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mintyys-blog · 2 days ago

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Reader with big boobs cuz whaaaaaa🥹

HEADCANON | variants with s/o who has big boobs

MAIN MARK

He tries so hard to be respectful, really. He does. But then you lean over the counter to reach something, and boom—gravity does its job, and Mark just short-circuits.

“Uhh—babe, can you not do that while I’m trying to concentrate?”

“What, exist?”

“Exactly.”

He always tries to sneak glances, thinking he’s being subtle—he’s not. You catch him every time, and the worst part? He grins about it.

“Oh, come on. You’re literally walking around like a walking distraction. You can’t blame me.”

Sometimes he just lays his head on your chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I dunno how you expect me to ever get out of bed again. I’m right where I belong.”

MOHAWK MARK

Mark’s the kind of man who lives for the show. You step out in a top that hugs your chest just right, and he doesn’t blink twice—he smirks, runs his tongue along his teeth, and slings an arm around your waist like a proud bastard.

“Yeah, baby. Go on. Let ‘em look. They wish they had what I do.”

He’s obsessed with how your chest looks in just about anything—tight tees, low-cut dresses, even when you’re wearing nothing but one of his old hoodies and it’s hanging off your shoulder.

Sometimes when you’re trying to get ready, he’ll lean in, eyes fixed on your chest like he’s deep in thought.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay in? I could use a little bounce in my day.”

He never covers you up. Doesn’t get jealous. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he wants the world to know you’re his.

“She’s mine. Go ahead and stare—just don’t forget who she goes home with.”

SINISTER MARK

Mark is possessive, and when it comes to you, he’s not subtle about it. You step into the room in something that shows off your chest, and his gaze immediately snaps to you—dark, calculating, hungry.

“Look at you, just begging to be marked,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Don’t think I’ll let anyone else enjoy this view.”

When you’re close, he reaches out, pressing his lips to your skin with a savage bite, his teeth leaving marks on your soft flesh. He relishes how you gasp, but he’s not doing it for your reaction—he’s marking you, claiming you in front of anyone who might dare to look.

“Let ’em look, but they won’t be touching you. Not like I do.”

His hands are quick to slide up your shirt, and he drags his mouth across your chest, leaving a trail of dark, bruising kisses. He’s unapologetic when he bites down hard, just enough to make you squirm, to remind you and everyone else who you belong to. Every time you wear something that shows your chest, he leaves a few new marks, a few more hickeys that you can’t hide.

Later, he’ll smirk to himself when he sees them—his handiwork, marking you as his, the pride of his possessiveness written on your skin.

“That’s better. Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

OMNI MARK

You were getting ready for the day, adjusting your top, when Mark’s eyes inevitably fell on you. There was something about the way you moved, the way your chest shifted with each step, that caught his attention every time. He didn’t say anything, not out loud at least, but his gaze lingered for a moment longer than usual as you adjusted your clothing.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he said casually, his voice cool but with that unmistakable teasing edge. He wasn’t shy about how he appreciated your body—especially the way your chest would bounce with your every move, drawing his attention.

You raised an eyebrow, fully aware of what he was referring to. “What, you like what you see?” you teased, leaning against the counter. You didn’t mind the attention, not with him. The dynamic between you two had always been relaxed, confident.

Mark grinned, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving you. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he replied, his tone playful, but there was that spark in his eyes—he was clearly enjoying watching you, letting the moment linger.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, but even with his arms folded, his gaze stayed on you. “You know, they’re hard to miss,” he remarked casually, his eyes tracing the curves of your figure.

His casual demeanor was always a bit of a front; while he could act indifferent, it was clear that he was drawn to you. He liked seeing you confident, enjoying your presence without feeling the need to hide his appreciation. He wasn’t a man of many words, but the way his gaze lingered, the way his smile was just a little more mischievous whenever you moved, spoke volumes.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, not so much out of embarrassment, but because of how effortlessly he made you feel at ease about it. “And what are you going to do about it?” you teased, stepping closer to him now.

Mark leaned in, his lips just brushing your ear. “Nothing, unless you want me to,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the playful tension between you both, but the moment was always on his terms.

He didn’t care much about the teasing or the casual back-and-forth—he just enjoyed you, in every way. Whether it was the bounce of your chest or the way you smiled, he was always going to appreciate what was his. But in the end, he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it; he didn’t need to. You knew exactly how he felt.

VILTRUMITE MARK

As you walked into the living room, his eyes immediately found you, taking in the soft swell of your chest—one of the many changes the pregnancy had brought. You had been more sensitive lately, and he had noticed the way your posture shifted in discomfort, the way you subtly adjusted your clothes to avoid putting pressure on your growing body.

Mark didn’t hesitate. He stood and moved toward you, his expression soft but serious. His hand moved to gently cup your chest, his touch firm but not possessive, more focused on easing your discomfort. He could feel the fullness beneath his palm, the way your body was changing. He didn’t mind. He never minded your changes—if anything, he found it beautiful.

“How’s that?” he asked, his voice low and calm as he rubbed his thumb over the swell, feeling the tightness there. “I know it’s been uncomfortable for you.”

Your breath hitched a little at the unexpected touch, but it wasn’t sexual—his intent was only to make you feel better, to help alleviate some of the strain you were carrying.

“Better?” he asked again, watching you with a caring, almost protective gaze as his other hand came up to rub your back, gently pressing into the tense muscles.

You nodded, a small sigh escaping you as the pressure began to ease. The pregnancy had made simple things like this more difficult for you, and even though Mark had the strength to lift mountains, he knew how to be gentle when it mattered.

“You’re doing well,” he added quietly, his lips pressing a brief kiss to your forehead before he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms as he continued his gentle touch, making sure you felt safe and cared for.

The moment was soft, tender. No grand gestures, no expectations—just him caring for you in a way only he could. You knew he was strong, but you also knew he was just as capable of tenderness when you needed it.

EMPEROR MARK

Mark’s demeanor had always been intense, and it didn’t change when it came to you. He’d never been one to hold back his opinions, especially when it came to things he found particularly… enticing about you. The way your chest moved when you walked, the way it swelled in your clothes—he couldn’t help but notice. To him, there was something commanding about it. You were his, and he didn’t mind the world seeing it.

You were in the middle of adjusting your clothes one morning when Mark entered the room, his eyes immediately locking on to your chest as you bent down, adjusting the fabric. He wasn’t subtle about it; he had no reason to be.

“You look… distractingly good,” he murmured, his voice low, with an edge to it that made your pulse quicken. His eyes didn’t move away from you, locking on to your body with the same intensity he gave to everything he focused on. He approached you, his footsteps slow and purposeful.

Before you could react, he was right behind you, his hand coming to rest against your lower back, pulling you into him. His breath was heavy against your ear as his other hand reached for the side of your chest, gripping it firmly, but not in a way that felt gentle. He wasn’t here for soft caresses; he wanted to remind you that he controlled this.

He didn’t hesitate to rub a thumb over the swell of your breast, feeling the weight of it beneath his hand. His touch wasn’t just possessive—it was commanding, as though he was marking his territory. He wasn’t subtle about how he appreciated you. He wanted you to know exactly what you did to him.

“You like this attention, don’t you?” he asked, his voice tinged with something darker now. His fingers dug deeper into your side, and you could feel the heat of his body pressed up against yours. He wasn’t asking for an answer. It was more of a statement, one that he expected you to agree with.

You tilted your head, trying to hide the fluster in your expression, but you couldn’t deny how the pressure of his touch had you weak in the knees. His hands were a mixture of roughness and control—he wasn’t being delicate, not in the slightest.

“I think you know the answer,” you managed to tease back, but the way you said it only seemed to fuel him more.

Emperor Mark chuckled darkly, his grip tightening as he maneuvered you to face him. His lips hovered dangerously close to your ear, the heat of his breath making you shiver. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, before pulling you roughly into a kiss. His hands didn’t move from your chest, exploring what was his with a possessive edge that you knew better than to question.

He didn’t care about gentleness, he didn’t care about subtlety. He liked the roughness, the way it made you feel as though you were at the center of everything. To him, you were his prize, and the way your chest looked in those clothes? It was something for everyone to notice. But more importantly, it was something for him to claim.

Mark wasn’t afraid to be rough. His power was intoxicating, and so was the way he looked at you, as if nothing—nothing at all—was more important than the way you made him feel. He didn’t need to hide it. You were his, and every inch of you was his to appreciate, in whatever way he saw fit.

PRISONER MARK

Mark’s rough demeanor wasn’t just limited to his words or actions; it was in the way he looked at you, especially when you wore something that highlighted your curves. Your chest, in particular, seemed to draw his gaze more often than he let on. He wasn’t shy about it, though. When it came to you, he had no intention of hiding what he liked, and your body, with its perfect fit into his large hands, was one of his favorite things to admire.

It was a lazy afternoon, and you were lounging on the couch, your shirt clinging just right, showing off your curves in all the ways that made Mark’s eyes darken with desire. He was sitting beside you, his large frame taking up most of the couch, and you couldn’t help but notice how his gaze kept flicking to your chest. His hand, resting on the back of the couch, was nearly hovering over you, like he was waiting for the perfect moment to reach out and grab you.

Finally, unable to help himself anymore, he reached out, his rough hand closing around the soft fullness of your breast. It wasn’t gentle—he didn’t care for gentleness when it came to you. His fingers dug in, holding your chest with the kind of possessive strength that made your breath hitch. His hand was large, but it fit perfectly against you, like you were made to be in his grip.

He smirked when he felt you flinch at the touch, and he could tell you were trying to play it cool. You always did, always tried to act unaffected by him, but he could see right through it. “You know, baby,” he growled low, voice rough with that familiar edge of possessiveness, “I fucking love how you fit in my hands.”

He squeezed a little more, and you gasped, feeling the pressure but also the unmistakable heat that spread through your body at his touch. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke again, a low, teasing tone in his voice.

“Perfectly,” he muttered, his thumb brushing over the curve of your breast, a move that made your heart race. He didn’t even need to look at your face to know the effect he was having on you. You didn’t need to say a word. The way your body tensed under his touch, the way your breath caught—he could feel all of it.

Mark’s grip tightened, and his eyes darkened as he shifted closer, pulling you slightly toward him. “You know,” he said softly, almost like he was savoring the moment, “You’re mine. Every inch of you. And these,” he gripped your chest again, his thumb and fingers pressing deeply into the soft flesh, “are exactly what I like to have.”

There was no question in his voice, no uncertainty. He wasn’t shy about claiming you, and the way he held you, as though you were an object he owned, only added to the raw intensity of his attraction to you. You were his. Every part of you, even the parts that everyone else only admired, he could touch, claim, and appreciate in ways that made him feel in control.

He chuckled darkly as you squirmed slightly under his touch, still trying to play it cool despite how your body betrayed you. “You can’t hide it from me, sweetheart,” he muttered, pulling you closer, “You like when I touch you, don’t you?”

You could only bite your lip in response, feeling the heat flood your cheeks as you tried to maintain your composure, but the truth was clear in how you reacted to him—how you always did.

SHIESTY MARK

Mark wasn’t the type to hide what he wanted or how he felt—especially when it came to you. If anything, he reveled in his boldness, and the more unapologetic he could be, the better. And your chest? Well, let’s just say it was one of his favorite things. He wasn’t one to be shy about his attraction to you, and the way he showed it made that more than clear.

One night, as the two of you were lying together in bed, you could feel the weight of his gaze, even in the dark. The two of you had been lounging, and as usual, Mark was being his typical cocky self. It wasn’t long before he had his hand resting on your chest, casually cupping your breast as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The touch wasn’t soft or careful—it was possessive, rough, and full of that familiar arrogance he wore so well.

“God damn,” he muttered, his voice thick with something darker than usual, “these things are too good, babe.” His hand gave a gentle squeeze, almost like he was marking his territory. He chuckled lowly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, enjoying the feel of you beneath him.

You tried to shift in bed, not really used to his boldness when it came to things like this. You didn’t say anything, though—he didn’t expect you to. He didn’t care what you said, really. It was the way you reacted that mattered. And right now? You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as he lightly squeezed again.

“Don’t even try to hide it,” he growled, his breath hot on your neck. “I know you like it when I get my hands on you like this.” He could feel you tense beneath him, and it only made him smirk wider. “You always try to act so innocent, but I know the truth.”

As the night wore on, Mark didn’t pull his hand away. He didn’t care how it looked or if it made you uncomfortable. Hell, he liked it when you squirmed a little. It was just his way of showing you who you belonged to. You could tell by the way his fingers moved—caressing, squeezing, and lightly massaging your chest—that he was getting comfortable with this. Maybe even too comfortable.

He wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t too rough either. His hand stayed right there, claiming you in the most casual way possible, like it was just another part of his nightly routine. He wanted to show you that he didn’t need anything elaborate to show his affection—just you, your body, and his hands doing exactly what he pleased with you.

Eventually, when the two of you settled into sleep, Mark’s hand stayed where it was, cupping your breast in the same possessive way. His grip was firm, his fingers slightly digging into the flesh as if to keep you close to him.

You could feel his breath slow down, and the weight of his hand felt strangely comforting. But deep down, you knew that Mark wasn’t just being affectionate. No, he was marking his territory, as usual—letting you know, in his own vulgar, cocky way, that you were his. You weren’t surprised when you woke up in the morning to find his hand still resting there, still holding you as though he owned every part of you. It was a simple gesture, but in true Shiesty Mark fashion, it came with a sense of possessiveness that no one else could match.

TAG LIST: @onlybatsyy

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible X reader

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pomefioredove · 15 hours ago

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Hihi!!!

Can I have a sugar cookie, #15, with frosting and candy cane :D

OMG friends to lovers with rook... REAL

order #15, sugar with frosting, candy canes

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ hunting familiarity

summary: cuddling with rook. that's it that's the plot tropes: friends to lovers, only one bed characters: rook additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, indulgent cuddling, short

"Oh, but it is necessary!"

You blink, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes while Rook waits on your doorstep. It's well past midnight, you have a make-up exam tomorrow morning, and you haven't the slightest clue why he couldn't ask... well, anyone else if he could stay in their dorm.

"...What happened, again?"

Rook sighs, setting a hand over his heart. "It was the most tragic thing, Trickster! I had been in the throes of passion, doing my evening target practice before bed, when- pouf! My foolish hunter's hand slipped, and an arrow went through the window of ma chambre,"

No way this is the truth. You're too tired for this. "Uh-huh?"

"You see, I cannot sleep in a cold room- I would rest most fitfully, and as I did not want to rouse the Roi du Poison from his beauty rest, I have come to humbly ask for your assistance,"

You almost roll your eyes. He's really rather loud, and the very last thing you need is for Grim to wake up with all the noise (he gets almost as grumpy as Vil).

"...Alright. But just for-"

"Merci, Trickster!" he says, letting himself in and hanging up his hat (yes, fully dressed- at midnight).

Before you can ask him what sofa he'd like, he's already ascending the stairs to your bedroom, and making himself at home with your blankets. Why do you even bother?

You sigh, wish him a good night, and then go to the door.

"Eh? Where are you going? Don't tell me the Headmage has you working at this hour, chouchou!"

He's sitting in bed, the blankets orderly over his dorm uniform, eyes wide and gleaming with excitement in the way they do when he sees something he likes.

In this case, it's the predicament he's put you in. Like an animal in a trap.

"...No, I'm going to the guest room to sleep," you say, hand on the doorframe and one foot over the threshold. "Good night, Rook-"

"You are not going to stay? I don't bite,"

You're not so sure about that.

"Or kick."

That seems more plausible.

"I just... don't want to wake Grim," you reason. "With all the tossing and turning. It's a small mattress."

"I'm sure you'll find we fit quite nicely," Rook says. He's not going to let this go, and though the thought of getting into bed with any of your friends feels like walking into bear territory while wearing a salmon suit, you're tired, it's cold, and you're more worried that Rook might take your measurements in your sleep than anything.

And Vil would have your head if Rook had to return and wake him.

"...No kicking," you agree, getting into bed at his side. "Or biting. And don't try to guess my blood type again."

Rook laughs, the sound merry and light. "Ah, Trickster! I discovered that months ago,"

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him, putting his chin on your shoulder and warming your shivering self. His chest is against your back, his body pleasantly temperate and perfectly comfortable. His breath grazes your neck, as if threatening to nibble but never taking the bite.

"Bonne nuit," he hums, complacent and content, as if nothing could be more perfect.

You sigh, pretending to be perplexed at his odd behavior, but he knows you better than that. You're not bothered by your friend, no matter how unfriendly he gets.

"You're lucky we're friends,"

"Oui, c'est vrai," he mutters. "Perhaps more, someday. Sleep well."

Your heart stops for a beat, a breath, a simple moment in time, and Rook surely felt it, with his arms around your waist and his cheek on your pulse point, but he sleeps.

He'd either taken pity on you, or the hunt had begun.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #rook hunt x reader #queued

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elryuse · 2 days ago

Text

One Day In Bahamas

Jennie X Male Reader

Tags : Strangers to Lovers, Naughty Activities, Slight Exhibitionism, Kissing, Light Spanking and Choking, Creampie, Slight Dominant Jennie Words : 2.296 Words

The plane touched down in the Bahamas, and you stepped out into the warm, salty air. The sun kissed your skin, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore filled your ears. You had planned this trip for months, envisioning it as a wild adventure with your friends. But life had other plans. One by one, they’d bailed—work, relationships, sudden bouts of responsibility. And now here you were, alone, with nothing but your suitcase and a sinking feeling of disappointment.

You checked into your beachfront resort, the kind of place that made you feel like you were living in a postcard. Palm trees swayed lazily in the breeze, and the pool sparkled like liquid sapphire. You dropped your bags in your room, changed into swim trunks, and headed for the beach. Maybe the ocean could wash away the loneliness.

You stretched out on a lounge chair, the sun warming your skin, when a shadow fell over you. You glanced up, squinting against the brightness, and there she was. Jennie. You recognized her instantly, her face a fixture on your screen for years. But seeing her in person was something else entirely. She was wearing a swimsuit-style bikini that hugged her petite, toned body perfectly—black with red accents that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her lips curved into a playful smile as she looked down at you.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice melodic, tinged with a hint of mischief.

You blinked, unsure if this was real or some sun-induced hallucination. “Uh… sure,” you managed to stammer, gesturing to the empty lounge chair beside you.

She sat down, crossing her legs gracefully, and tilted her head to look at you. “You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind. Vacation not going as planned?”

You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “You could say that. My friends bailed on me last minute. So it’s just… me.”

Her eyes sparkled with understanding. “Sometimes being alone isn’t so bad. You might even discover something—or someone—you weren’t expecting.”

The way she said it sent a shiver down your spine. Was she flirting? Or was this just Jennie being Jennie—charming, effortless, impossible to read.

The two of you fell into easy conversation, talking about everything and nothing. She was funny, quick-witted, and surprisingly down-to-earth. You found yourself laughing more than you had in months. Hours slipped by, and before you knew it, the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink.

“I should probably head back,” she said, standing up and stretching. “It was nice meeting you.”

You hesitated, not ready to let the moment end. “Hey, Jennie… would you want to get dinner or something? If you’re not busy, I mean.”

She turned to look at you, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Dinner led to drinks, and drinks led to walking along the beach under the moonlight. The air between you was thick with something unspoken, something electric. You could feel the tension building with every step, every glance, every accidental brush of your hand against hers.

“You’re different,” she said abruptly, stopping and turning to face you. “I mean, I meet a lot of people, but you… you’re not like them.”

“Is that a good thing?” you asked, your voice low.

She stepped closer, her eyes locking with yours. “It’s a very good thing.”

And then she kissed you. Her lips were soft, warm, and tasted faintly of the cocktail she’d been drinking. Your hands found her waist, pulling her closer as her tongue teased against yours. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more desperate. She broke away first, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

“Let’s go back to your room,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

You didn’t need to be told twice. The walk back was a blur, your heart pounding in your chest as you fumbled with the keycard to your room. The door clicked open, and she pushed you inside, her hands immediately going to the waistband of your swim trunks. She pulled them down, freeing your cock, and sank to her knees in one fluid motion.

Her lips wrapped around you, and you let out a groan, your hands tangling in her hair. She took you deep, her tongue swirling around the tip before she pulled back, only to take you in again, deeper this time. Your knees weakened as she worked you with her mouth, her movements slow and deliberate, like she was savoring every second.

“Jennie,” you gasped, your voice ragged. “You’re driving me crazy.”

She looked up at you, her eyes dark with desire. “Good. That’s the point.”

Her hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as she took you all the way, her nose brushing against your stomach. You moaned, your fingers tightening in her hair as she started to move, bobbing her head up and down with increasing speed. The sensations were overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire.

She pulled away suddenly, standing up and pushing you onto the bed. “My turn,” she said, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

She straddled you, grinding against your cock as she leaned down to kiss you again. Her hands roamed over your chest, down your sides, and then she reached back, giving your ass a sharp smack. You gasped, the sting mixing with the pleasure in a way that made your head spin.

“You like that?” she teased, her voice dripping with mischief.

You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. She laughed, a low, sultry sound, and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Good. Because I’m just getting started.”

She didn’t wait for you to respond. Her hands moved with purpose, untieing the strings of her bikini top in one fluid motion. The black and gold fabric slipped away, revealing her supple breasts, the tips already stiffening in the air. You couldn’t help but stare, your breath hitching as she smirked, fully aware of the effect she had on you.

“Eyes on me,” she teased, her voice low and playful. Her fingers trailed down her body, pausing just above the waistband of her bikini bottoms. With a deliberate slowness, she peeled them off, letting them fall to the floor. Her bare skin glowed in the soft light, every curve and line of her petite, toned body more mesmerizing than the last.

She stepped closer, her hips swaying with an almost hypnotic rhythm. “Do you like what you see?” she asked, her voice dripping with confidence. You nodded, your throat dry, your cock throbbing with want. She giggled, a sound that was both innocent and devilish, before sinking to her knees in front of you.

Her hands rested on your thighs, her fingers digging in slightly as she leaned forward. Her breath was warm against your skin as she kissed the tip of your cock, her lips soft and inviting. You groaned, your hips twitching involuntarily. She glanced up at you, her eyes dark with desire. “Good,” she murmured before taking you into her mouth.

The heat of her lips wrapped around you, and you felt your entire body tense. Her tongue swirled around the shaft, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she was savoring every inch of you. Your hands gripped the sheets, your knuckles white as she took you deeper, her throat relaxing to accommodate you. She moaned softly, the vibration sending shivers down your spine.

Her rhythm quickened, her head bobbing up and down as she worked you expertly. Her hands gripped your thighs, her nails leaving faint marks as she took you deeper, her throat tightening around you. You could feel the pressure building, the pleasure overwhelming, but she pulled away just before you reached the edge.

“Not yet,” she whispered, her voice breathless but firm. She stood up, her eyes locking with yours as she climbed onto the bed. She straddled you again, her wetness pressing against your cock. She leaned down, her lips brushing against yours as she whispered, “I want to feel all of you.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands gripped her hips, guiding her as she lowered herself onto you. She gasped as you filled her, her nails digging into your chest as she adjusted to your size. She began to move, her hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm that left you breathless.

Her lips found yours again, her tongue tangling with yours in a kiss that was as hungry as it was tender. Her hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of you as she rode you with increasing intensity. You could feel the tension building, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable, but she didn’t let up.

One of her hands moved to your neck, her fingers wrapping around it gently but firmly. She squeezed, just enough to make your breath hitch, and you could see the mischief in her eyes. “You’re mine,” she whispered, her voice a mix of dominance and affection. You could only nod, your entire body consumed by her.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “I want to hear you beg.” Her words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you found yourself murmuring her name, your voice trembling with need. She laughed softly, her breath hot against your skin, and you knew that this was just the beginning.

Her breath was hot against your ear as she whispered, “Turn me over.” Her voice was low, commanding, yet laced with a teasing undertone that sent shivers down your spine. You didn’t hesitate, your hands slipping from her hips to guide her onto her knees. Jennie's back arched, her hips raised, and her ass was presented to you like an offering. The sight alone made your cock throb, still slick from her tightness, and you couldn’t resist running a hand over the curve of her cheek.

Her skin was warm, glowing under the soft light filtering through the curtains. You gave her a light smack, the sound sharp and satisfying, and she let out a gasp that quickly turned into a low, throaty moan. “Harder,” she demanded, her voice trembling with need. You obliged, spanking her again, firmer this time, watching as her body jolted forward, her pussy clenching around nothing.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes dark with desire, and smirked. “Is that all you’ve got?” she teased, her tone dripping with playful defiance. You knew she was goading you, testing your limits, and it only fueled the fire burning inside you. You spanked her again, harder still, and this time her moan was unrestrained, her body quivering as she pressed her hips back toward you.

“Fuck me,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper but laced with urgency. You didn’t need to be told twice. Positioning yourself behind her, you grasped her hips and pushed into her in one smooth, forceful thrust. She cried out, her hands gripping the sheets as you filled her completely. The way her walls clenched around you was intoxicating, and you could feel every inch of her as you began to move.

Your rhythm was slow at first, deliberate, each thrust drawing a moan from her lips. But the more you moved, the more you lost yourself in her. Her ass bounced with every push, the sound of skin against skin mingling with her gasps and whimpers. You reached forward, your hand wrapping around her throat, and she let out a choked moan, her body trembling under your touch.

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice ragged. “Just like that.” Her words spurred you on, and you picked up the pace, your hips slamming into hers with a force that made the bed creak. The sound of her pleasure was music to your ears, and you could feel the tension building, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust.

Your hand moved back to her ass, spanking her again, and this time she keened, her body arching as she pushed back against you. Her pussy tightened around you, her walls gripping your cock like a vice, and you groaned, the sensation almost too much to bear. “You’re so fucking tight,” you muttered, your voice strained as you fought to keep your rhythm.

“Good,” she panted, her voice husky. “Then don’t stop.” Her words were a command, and you obeyed, your thrusts becoming more erratic as you chased your release. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, and you could feel her body tensing, her orgasm building just beneath the surface.

You leaned forward, your chest pressing against her back as your lips found her ear. “Cum for me,” you whispered, your voice rough with need. She shuddered, her body convulsing as she came, her pussy clamping down on you so hard it almost hurt. The sensation pushed you over the edge, and with a groan, you buried yourself deep inside her, your release flooding her as her walls milked every last drop from you.

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound the ragged breaths escaping both your lips. Then she turned her head, her lips finding yours in a kiss that was as tender as it was passionate. When she pulled away, there was a mischievous glint in her eyes, and she smirked. “You’re not done yet, are you?” she asked, her voice teasing but with a hint of challenge.

Your cock twitched inside her, still hard, and she laughed softly, her hips grinding against you. “I didn’t think so,” she murmured, her tone dripping with satisfaction.

#kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #update #kpop smut #jennie #kim jennie #blackpink #smut #blackpink smut #jennie smut #strangers to lovers

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sturnioz · 1 day ago

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NSFW ALPHABET ; FRATBOY!MATT AND CONFIDENT!READER EDITION .ᐟ

﹙☆﹚ A ─ AFTERCARE. (what are they like after sex?)

matt is extremely thorough with aftercare when it comes to you. he'll run you a warm bath or shower, he'll scrub your body with your favourite scented soaps, wash your hair if it gets a little messy, applies soothing creams to all the places he's spanked or bitten if you both decided to get rough. he'll prepare some water or make you food if you're hungry and in need of energy. but if you're not in the mood, he'll just lay down with you in his arms until you're ready to do something else or fall asleep.

﹙☆﹚ B ─ BODY PART. (favourite body part on each other)

matt's favourite body part on you is your ass. he isn't fully sure why, but all he knows is that he's obsessed with it. his hand always finds it way down your spine to grope at the meaty skin when you're together with or without sexual intentions. loves it when you wear anything that shows it off—short skirts, dresses, booty shorts, tight jeans etc etc...

your favourite body part on matt is his back. you love scratching it up with your nails, you love leaving your mark on him. he works out from time to time, so when he comes over or if you're in the frat house after he visits the gym, it turns you a little feral seeing it so broad and sweaty.

﹙☆﹚ C ─ CUM. (anything to do with cum)

matt prefers cumming deep inside you more than anything, but he isn't against covering your face or body and making a sticky mess every once in a while. he loves filling you up, feeling your walls flutter around him or your throat constrict and tongue lap at the veins as you milk is balls dry.

﹙☆﹚ D ─ DIRTY SECRET. (a dirty secret of theirs)

matt's dirty little secret is that he likes it when you take control. you know this, but you're not aware of how serious it actually is. the thrill matt feels when you're dragging him around, forcing him down on the bed or against the wall to play with his cock or make him cum over and over again with no intent of stopping, or planting yourself firmly on his face to make him drown in your juices as he eats you out with fervour. this doesn't mean he doesn't like being dominant in the bedroom with you though, he's more than willing to put you in your place—he just likes it when it happens to him too.

﹙☆﹚ E ─ EXPERIENCE. (how experienced are they?)

you're both pretty experienced, having your fair share of sexual relationships and, in your case, partners. you'd like to argue you're more experienced than matt though and he would wholeheartedly agree.

﹙☆﹚ F ─ FAVOURITE POSITION.

they don't have one favourite, they have many. their shared favourite positions are: doggy style, prone bone, spooning, downward dog, deck chair, reverse cowgirl, slope, erotic poster, basket, puzzle, full nelson, missionary.

﹙☆﹚ G ─ GOOFY. (are they serious or humorous?)

humorous moments during sex isn't rare between you two, it happens more often than you think. more often than not, you're both giggly and cracking little jokes and smiles—especially when neither of you are sober or just overall in a good mood.

﹙☆﹚ H ─ HAIR. (how well groomed are they? preferred preference?)

matt bounces between shaving until he's bare or keeping it trimmed, it all depends on his mood and the day. sometimes he finds it a hassle to shave everything off completely so more often than not, it's just neatly trimmed.

matt doesn't care whether you shave/wax or not, it doesn't bother him one bit. he'd never dare tell you to shave if you don't want to. hair or not, matt is still going in.

﹙☆﹚ I ─ INTIMACY. (how are they during the moment? overall romance aspect)

matt is always romantic when it comes to you. he'll buy you flowers and gifts, he'll hold your hand or wrap his arms around your waist from behind in public settings. he'll kiss your knuckles, your hand, your cheeks, your forehead, your lips—practically any sliver of skin that's available to him. you're the same, meaning you go above and beyond too when it comes romance.

in the bedroom, it all depends on the mood. on the days where neither of you want some soft, romantic sex, the intimacy is out the door. you're grabbing at each other roughly, you're biting each other, he's slapping your ass and holding you down when he's drilling into you, and you're either forcing his hands to the bed or tying him up when you ride him, not wanting him to touch you.

﹙☆﹚ J ─ JERKING OFF. (how often does he do it?)

matt doesn't jerk off as much as he used to anymore, but he will rub one out in the middle of the night or early hours in the morning if he's thinking about you while you're not around. he can hold himself off and wait until he sees you to get the real thing, but sometimes he can't help himself when his cock is pulsing and painful. he may text you throughout and send pictures/videos, or he'll call just to hear your voice to help bring him over the edge.

﹙☆﹚ K ─ KINKS. (their kinks)

both share similar kinks which are: choking, slapping, spanking, biting, scratching, role play, recording, rough sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, face fucking, tit fucking, outdoor sex, bondage, blindfolds, ice play, hair pulling, dom/sub dynamics.

﹙☆﹚ L ─ LOCATION. (favourite place to have sex)

out of all the places you and matt have had sex, it's definitely in the comfort of your own bedrooms. matt loves being able to spread you out on a bed and you love rolling around with much free space possible whether that's switching positions or being taken up against the wall, door or even on the floor. his and your car is probably a close second—the confined space and being so pressed up against each other makes you both feel dizzy.

﹙☆﹚ M ─ MOTIVATION. (what turns them on?)

your attitude turns matt on in an instant. the second something snarky or bitchy slips from your lips, whether its jokingly aimed toward him and serious toward someone else, it gets matt chubbed up in his boxers and he's fighting back every urge to drill you against any surface available.

everything that matt does turns you on, and you mean everything. him smiling, smirking, laughing, angry, working out, playing lacrosse, cooking, cleaning, that thing he does when he runs his tongue across his teeth or when it pokes against his cheek, that thing he does with his eyebrows when he raises them in a way thats like "yeah? keep goin'."—it sets you off. you have no shame, so you'll happily pounce and take him anywhere anytime.

﹙☆﹚ N ─ NO. (what they wouldn't do/turn offs)

the biggest turn off for you and matt is sharing. it's fair to say, and abundantly clear, that you're a little possessive over each other. yes you're both comfortable and confident in your relationship so there's no reason to be possessive or even get jealous, but the thought of having a threesome leaves an awful taste in your mouths.

﹙☆﹚ O ─ ORAL. (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc...)

matt loves giving. he loves knowing that he's making his girl feel good with his mouth and tongue, and who are you to take that away from him? he knows exactly how to throw you over the edge and make you cum on his face in minutes. but even so, that doesn't mean he doesn't like receiving. he'll happily let you get down on your knees or crawl between his thighs to watch you shove his cock down your throat.

﹙☆﹚ P ─ PACE. (fast and rough or slow and sensual?)

it all depends on the mood. sometimes the two of you want fast and rough, other times you want it to be slow and sensual. sometimes it's both—starting off slow and sensual before getting railed into the mattress or vice versa. there's no preference to which one you like the most, they're both satisfying and good.

﹙☆﹚ Q ─ QUICKES. (their opinions and how often it happens)

quickies only happen when you both have somewhere else to be but can't hold off from touching each other any longer. you like to ride matt just before a frat party—sinking down on his cock and feeling him in your guts to get that buzz coursing through your veins before having a great night with friends and alcohol.

matt likes to take you in his or your car between classes or practice—tucked away in the far end of the parking lot, the vehicle rocking in time with his thrusts as he pumps into you in the backseat, fogging up the windows and leaving streaky fingerprints behind.

﹙☆﹚ R ─ RISK. (do they take risks?)

you and matt are more than willing to experiment with each other and takes risks as long as you're both comfortable with what's about to happen. if its something a little more dangerous or pain inflicted, you two will have a conversation with each other and set certain boundaries and rules before giving it a try.

﹙☆﹚ S ─ STAMINA. (how long can they last?)

matt can go for as long as you need him to. he can hold himself back from cumming pretty well unless you're beginning for a taste or for him to fill you up to the brim. he's more focused on your pleasure than his sometimes, especially if he's not in that certain type of mood where all he wants to do is fuck you until his balls are drained. but even if he happens to cum before you, or he cums yet you still want more, he'll find other ways to make you feel good by using his tongue or fingers until his cock hardens back up so he's ready to go again.

﹙☆﹚ T ─ TOYS. (do they own or use any sex toys?)

you own a lot of sex toys that are tucked away in a artsy box under your bed. you'll use them whenever you need to, with or without matt. he'll hold a vibrator to your clit or he'll shove a pretty jewelled butt plug in your ass while he's fucking his cock into you. he'll make you ride a dildo while you're drooling and choking on his cock.

﹙☆﹚ U ─ UNFAIR. (how much they like to tease)

the teasing is excessive between the two of you. you're always teasing each other until one of you are a whimpering, pleading mess. when you're both teasing at the same time, it's usually matt that wins because you get so snippy—demanding him to shut up and fuck you. matt just smirks and gives you what you need while still being a tease. when it's you teasing him, matt entertains it for a while, allowing you to do and say whatever you please until he simply throws you into position.

﹙☆﹚ V ─ VOLUME. (how loud are they?)

matt isn't extremely vocal when you first start off, he may say a few words that alternates between praises and filth, or curses whenever he sinks into your mouth or cunt, but the moaning and the groans comes a little after when he's losing himself in your touch. he likes hearing you more than himself, but he knows how much you like listening to him too, so he doesn't hold back whenever you please him or tell him to get louder. he mainly makes the noises in your ears though, they're reserved for you.

﹙☆﹚ W ─ WILD CARD. (random headcanon)

you own an old digital camera thats tucked away beneath your bed, the memory full of pictures and videos of you and matt fucking or pleasing each other. using it isn't a reoccurring theme, but it does happen more often than not. sometimes it's you digging it out to film yourself deep throating matt's cock, other times it's matt grabbing it to film him rutting into your soppy cunt, letting the lens capture how well your glistening folds spread around him and leaky hole suck him in.

﹙☆﹚ X ─ X-RAY. (what's going on in fratboy!matt's pants?)

matt is the biggest you've ever been with—lengthy and girthy. it hangs heavy in his pants, strains prominently against the material even if he's hard or soft. despite being sexually active with each other a lot, his cock still stretches you out whenever you take him inside. it's more pleasant than it is painful.

﹙☆﹚ Y ─ YEARNING. (how high is their sex drive?)

your sex drive is significantly more higher than matts, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to dick you down every day. unfortunately, there a days where you're both to busy to actually accomplish that, so it doesn't happen as often as the two of you(mainly you) would like.

﹙☆﹚ Z ─ Zzz. (how fast they fall asleep afterwards)

matt's usually the one that gets tired first, but he doesn't allow himself to fall asleep until he knows you're okay. he makes sure you've peed, he cleans you up if there's a big mess, then he wraps you up tight in his arms and scratches your back until you doze off. sometimes it takes you a while longer for you to fall asleep because of how active your brain is even after getting fucked, but matt will stay up all night with you if needed.

divider credits. @issysh3ll

#matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #☆ fratboy!matt #☆ confident!reader #꒰ fratboy!matt x confident!reader prompt ꒱#©sturnioz

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covenofagatha · 4 hours ago

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A New Addiction

You've known Agatha for awhile now but when you start working with her, feelings start to develop

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: oral sex, service bottom reader, caffeine addiction, praise kink, bit of an oral fixation, age gap

A/N: This is super specific and entirely self-indulgent lmao

It’s a stupid crush.

Harmless. Futile. Foolish.

You’ve known her for years. She’s friends with your mom. And now, she’s your much older co-worker.

Well, kind of your co-worker. You’re just helping out on the side. It’s the swimming unit for the Physical Education classes at the high school you went to and you’re lifeguarding after graduating college just to make some extra cash.

Which means getting to hang out on the pool deck with Agatha Harkness for two weeks.

The crush sort of came out of nowhere. You’d never really thought of her in that way, and you’re not sure when things changed.

Maybe it was when she asked you deep questions when it was just the two of you sitting there and she actually listened. Maybe it was when she teased you about trying an energy drink for the first time and getting hooked immediately and still encouraging you. Maybe it was when she told you that you were funny a few days ago.

But you can’t stop thinking about her now and the way she tilts her sunglasses down to look at you with those bright blue eyes and the way she tosses her long dark hair over her shoulder and the way she nudges you when you say something cheeky but then smirks wickedly to dish it right back at you.

It’s becoming a slight problem, how you always want to be with her. How the class periods that she has free just drag by and you count down the minutes until you might be able to see Agatha again. How you would do anything just to have her attention on you, even though you know logically that she’ll never like you back like that.

But Agatha brings you an energy drink on Monday, tsking when your eyes light up and you immediately reach for it when she gives it to you in the office.

“You are so addicted,” she sighs with a chuckle when you hand it back to her because you can’t open the can. Agatha easily pops it open, nails painted a deep red that contrasts nicely with her pale skin, and she holds eye contact as she takes a sip right from the opening of it. She’s wearing shorts that show off her long legs and a light blue shirt and you can’t stop your gaze from wandering down her body.

She gives it back to you and you try to ignore the fact that your lips are touching the spot that hers just did.

“And yet, you’re just giving me more,” you say, grinning. “You like it.”

Agatha snorts. “And you’re crazy.”

You take a long swig and swish the liquid around your mouth. She watches, pupils dilating just slightly. When she looks at you like that, you think she must feel something for you.

It looks like she’s going to say something else, but she doesn’t—she just smirks knowingly and picks up her clipboard before walking out and to the pool deck.

This is her easiest class: not a lot of kids and they’re all strong swimmers. Which means you get to just hang out with her.

You walk with her up and down the deck, mindlessly chatting about your weekends and how the kids are doing while swimming. Agatha’s lips quirk up each time you lift the can to your mouth and you pretend not to notice, but you can’t help laughing.

She makes you feel so free.

When the kids are done swimming and they have free time to play around in the pool, you and Agatha sit next to each other in chairs by the diving well. You take off your shirt, revealing your sensible one-piece just to get some sun, and you think you hear her breath hitch.

It’s hard to ignore the warm feeling spreading through you as you feel her eyes raking over you.

—

She walks with you up to the cafeteria during lunch and you’re hoping you can snag something to eat.

You have a second energy drink in your hands and Agatha keeps making fun of you for it.

“One day, your heart is going to explode,” she says while shaking her head fondly.

Lifting the can to your lips, you smile into it before taking a short sip. “What can I say? I get addicted to things way too easily. I just can’t stop thinking about them.”

There’s a look in Agatha’s eyes, like she knows that what you really can’t stop thinking about is her.

The cafeteria is crowded when you get there. You open the door and hold it open for Agatha, who breezes past you with a quick “Thank you.”

It’s easier to hang back, so you do. But Agatha pushes through the crowd to get food and she comes back a few minutes later to raise an eyebrow at you.

“Are you getting something?”

You gesture at the line of kids standing there.

Agatha huffs. “Go up there and get something. Do you need me to hold your hand?”

Turning out your bottom lip mockingly into an exaggerated pout, you nod, wondering what she’ll do.

She grabs your hand from where it was limply resting on your waist and squeezes it. “Be brave and go get some food.”

But then Agatha drops your hand and you’re almost disappointed. You nod and she claps you on the shoulder before you push through the kids to pick up a paper plate with pasta on it.

When you come back, she’s still waiting for you and she buys your food for you. You don’t really know why she’s being so nice but you mumble a “thank you” and she smirks before waving you along.

A few girls from her class catch you both as you’re walking back to the office and you finish your pasta while they talk to her. After you throw your plate away, she hands you the rest of her food without saying a word to you.

Once again, you have to pretend not to care that your mouth is eating from the same fork that hers was.

—

You’re back on the deck with Agatha. It’s only her class in the pool—just how you like it. It means it’s just the two of you, no other coaches around.

One of her students, a girl with light brown hair and black suit, is talking to you about boy drama she’s having, trying to stall having to get in the pool.

Agatha laughs when you say something snarky and you try to ignore the way your clit pulses. Your hands are slightly trembling, a remnant of all the caffeine you’ve drank today, and you can feel Agatha’s eyes on you again.

“All right, Jess, you need to go swim,” Agatha says and Jess looks at you pleadingly but you tilt your head toward her coach in agreement.

She sighs but finally goes to jump in the pool and catches up with her friends. The air is thick with something now that she’s gone and it’s just you and Agatha.

“How is your love life?” Agatha asks and you stiffen before trying to seem casual. You pick at your nails while she leans over the side of her chair. “Any guys?”

That makes you snort and you turn to look at her. “I’m not really into guys,” you rasp, voice suddenly deeper.

She picks up her sunglasses and rests them on top of her head, surveying you. Her blue eyes seem to pierce right through you, and although it’s really hot outside, you shiver.

What is she going to say?

All Agatha does is hum and drop her glasses back down onto her nose and you bite your lip at the silence.

Should you continue that conversation? Tell her about your failed relationships? Ask her about her love life?

“That’s good to know,” she says finally and you stare straight ahead at the pool and hope that she thinks your flush is just from the temperature.

—

Agatha brings you another energy drink the next morning and you think you get more of a high from her than you do from the caffeine. She’s wearing a green tank top and khaki shorts and you want to get on your knees for her.

She opens your drink for you again and takes a sip before you can.

It’s like she wants you to think about kissing her. Like she wants you to imagine it.

“I hate this type of schedule,” you say. The kids have only their even class periods today, whereas yesterday, they had their odd.

She smirks and steals the can from you again to take another sip before handing it back. Her fingers brush against yours and there’s droplets on her lip that you want to lick off. “Is it because you don’t get to see me as much?”

It is. She only has one class out in the pool on days like this. You like the other coaches well enough, but none of them give you the rush that Agatha does.

“Totally,” you answer sarcastically so she thinks you’re joking.

Agatha taps your chin with a knowing look and you think she must know a lot more than she lets on. “Don’t get too bored without me.”

“I could say the same thing to you,” you quip and are delighted when she winks at you.

She takes a step closer to you and the air gets tighter around you. All you can think about is her leaning in and kissing you slowly.

But she doesn’t.

Agatha just gives you a crooked smile and walks out to get her class and you trudge to the pool deck for over an hour of boredom.

—

“How was it?” Agatha asks when you collapse into a chair in her office after the first period of the day. You’re sweating already, even though it’s still early in the morning, and the sleeves on your shirt are rolled up, baring your shoulders.

You groan and wipe your forehead. “Those boys are the worst. And you weren't there.”

She laughs and it’s music to your ears. “I’ll be there next period, don’t worry.”

It pulls a smile onto your face and she holds your stare for a second. There’s something different about the way she’s looking at you and talking to you. Like there’s a closeness now that wasn’t there before.

Agatha doesn’t act like this with anyone else, at least not that you’ve noticed. She doesn’t share drinks casually with anyone else like she does with you.

It has to mean something, right?

Your hand is trembling again against the desk. No surprise after downing the drink and you can slowly feel yourself start to come down from the high.

She abruptly slides back in her chair and stands up. You look up in surprise and she puts her hand on top of your shaky one.

“I need something from the equipment room. Come with me?” she asks, but it’s not really a question.

And you’d never say no anyway.

Her office is connected to the gym and she leads you into the storage room on the other side. It’s big and filled with carts of footballs and basketballs and volleyballs and hula hoops hang on the walls and big physio balls are stacked on top of shelves. It smells musty but it doesn’t take long to adjust to it.

Agatha walks back and forth like she’s looking for something and you don’t get in the way; you stand to the side and run your hands through the line of jump ropes hanging.

You accidentally catch one of them with your fingertips and end up pulling about six onto the floor.

Before even thinking about it, you sink to your knees to pick them up.

Agatha stops in front of you and you just look up at her, dropping the ropes in your hands back onto the floor. It feels like everything goes even quieter than it was before. Can she hear you breathing? You can hear yourself and you don’t know if it’s really as ragged as you think it is.

Her eyes are dark as she peers down at you and something just feels right about this.

She must want you too.

She has to like you too.

Agatha swallows, strangely and uncharacteristically affected, and reaches out to brush a strand of hair back behind your ear. It’s gentle and you almost shiver. Your mouth is watering.

You could make her feel so good right now. Your clit pulses at the thought.

Neither of you have moved.

Will you just stay like this until the bell rings and then pretend that nothing happened?

But then she clears her throat and your eyes dart up to watch her lips move. “You look good like this,” she says, thick and hot and you let out a strangled gasp.

Your hands are shaking again but it’s not because of the caffeine, it’s because of your desire. Your need.

She sees it too and smirks. “You are addicted, aren’t you?”

Addicted to her.

Is that what she’s asking?

“Yes,” you admit breathlessly and she grins wolfishly and starts to walk away. You watch her, dumbfounded, until she backs into the wall only a few feet away from where you’re still kneeling and stares expectantly at you.

And then she hikes up her shirt and unbuttons her shorts and your eyes widen.

“But—I—you—” you stammer, not sure why you can’t just shut up. This can't be real, this is just some hallucination or something.

“Are you going to make me feel good?” Agatha asks nonchalantly, like she isn’t about to let you fuck her, and your world tilts on its axis.

You whimper and nod pathetically and you don’t even care that you’re crawling across a dirty floor on your knees for her because you’d do anything for her at this point.

How did it get to this point?

Her thighs are soft under your quivering fingertips and you don’t care if this is a dream or if she calls this a moment of weakness or if you never get to touch her again.

She tenses as you drag your hands up further to tease the edge of her shorts and you flick your eyes up to watch her through your eyelashes as you pull her zipper down with your teeth. Her chest flares and she reaches up to ruffle her hair with her left hand.

When her zipper is all the way down, you find a hint of gray cotton underwear peeking through and you quietly groan to yourself. You tug on the waistband and slowly drag them down her pale legs. You can’t resist the urge and you lean in to nip at her thigh and she hisses.

“We don’t have much time,” Agatha rasps but you move in slow motion anyway, tilting your head back up, eyes travelling up from her shorts pooled at her ankles to the damp fabric between her thighs. She says your name, a testament, maybe, to how much she wants this too.

You could tease her; it would be payback for all the teasing she’s given you the past few days.

But you need this as much as she does.

Agatha lets out a small noise when you lay your hands on her thighs to spread them and you scooch closer to her. You give her one last look, just to make sure, and you only find desire on her face.

You drag your tongue over her wet gusset and everything is changed between you forever.

Agatha slumps against the wall and you moan unconsciously at the tangy flavor before sucking on her folds through her underwear. Her hips buck and you’re surprised by how turned on she is already.

But you can’t talk—you can feel how much of a mess you are.

You lick at her clit through her underwear which is now a charcoal gray color with your saliva and her wetness staining it. A thrilling high roots itself in your brain at the thought of her walking around in these the rest of the day. You hope she feels how soaked she is with every step she takes.

She gasps and her hand finds your hair. Her fingers tighten and her nails scratch against your scalp, pulling a moan from you. “Hurry up,” she grits out. There’s a longer break on days like these, but you don’t know how much time is left.

And you’d hate to leave her unsatisfied.

You pull back and scrape your teeth over her thigh before reaching up to pull her underwear to the side. Her wetness gets on your hand and you suck your fingers into your mouth to clean them. Her top teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stares down at you.

And then you slowly move back to her cunt, like you’re being pulled magnetically. You breathe heavily, already craving her, and you think you die and go to heaven when you drag your flattened tongue through her folds, able to feel her this time.

She fills your mouth and your taste buds are flooded with the best thing you’ve ever had and you close your eyes to savor her. Agatha inhales again and slides further down the wall so you’re able to get more between her legs. Your fingers are digging into her thighs and they’re not trembling anymore—you’re getting your fix right now.

Agatha gasps when you lap around her clit, teasing but not giving in just yet. She makes a muffled noise and her fingers warningly tug on your hair and you smirk against her hot center before enclosing your lips around the nub and sucking. Her eyes shoot wide and she clamps her other hand over her mouth.

Your knees ache from the floor but it hardly even registers because you can feel her clit throbbing in your mouth and her head drops back against the wall and you know you’re doing something right.

She keens when your tongue slides down to her entrance and then curls up inside her and her hips rock again. Your nose moves over her clit and she does her best to ride your face, as much as her position allows her to.

Her walls clench around your tongue and more wetness leaks down the side of your face but you can’t get enough. You devour her, frantically mouthing at her pussy, and you still can’t believe this is actually happening.

“Fuck, your mouth is so good,” she groans and you moan into her. She stiffens over you and you curl your tongue inside her again. She pulses around you.

You say something into her cunt; it’s muffled and unintelligible and even you don’t know what you’re meaning to say.

Agatha whimpers and pulls at your hair again when you move back to sucking at her clit. “Right there, fuck, that’s perfect,” she sighs and your tongue lashes against her.

Her pupils have swallowed up almost all the blue in her eyes and her cheeks are a rosy pink color. The vein in her forehead that you watch throb sometimes is throbbing right now as she looks down at you.

You’ve never felt like you belonged somewhere as much as you do right now. You could live under her desk with her cunt in your mouth and you don’t think you’d be more content anywhere else.

Agatha’s fingers are gripping your hair so hard it’s almost painful and you relish in the fact that you’ll feel her phantom touch even after it’s gone. You’ll be sitting on the pool deck next to her, the taste of her still in your mouth, and no one will know.

It’ll be your little secret.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m going to come,” she groans urgently and it’s as close to begging as you’re going to get from her.

Your teeth scrape against her clit and you dip your tongue back inside her one last time before sucking open-mouthed on her and flicking your tongue over her clit as fast as you can. Agatha throbs and her cunt is getting hotter and your nails dig deeper into her legs.

“Oh—fuck,” she breathes and you feel her come. Her thighs tighten around your head and shake like your hands were earlier and she yanks on your hair. Her lip has to be stinging from how hard it looks like she’s biting it.

And you just keep sucking and lapping up her wetness, drunk on her taste and feel and everything. Her noises are delicious and go straight to your own cunt and you want to make her make them over and over again.

Her clit is still pulsing; you can feel it, and you think she might come again. She has a dazed out look in her eyes as she stares down at you and her breathing is labored.

But she shakes her head and tugs you away from her and you reluctantly let her. You sit back on your heels, gasping, the entire bottom half of your face and nose slicked with her.

She chuckles while she takes in the disheveled mess that she’s made you into and wipes her thumb against your chin, collecting her wetness. She holds it out to you and you eagerly suck on her, bobbing up and down to make sure you get all of it. Even after the taste is gone, you don’t stop.

“Already addicted?” she asks, soft and teasing and this won’t be the last time this happens because you think she might be addicted too. She bends down to pull her pants and underwear back up.

You nod and there’s a smug, triumphant smirk on her face. She’s so proud and there’s a burning sensation that sears through your stomach.

The bell rings and you’re reminded that you’re on your knees in a storage room in a high school gym and you have to go out and work.

With Agatha.

After she just came all over your face.

You can still taste her and smell her and feel her.

“Go clean up,” she orders and holds out her hand for you to take. She helps you up and your knees hurt when you bend them and she laughs when you wobble on your feet.

She looks over your body one last time before nodding assuringly and then walks toward the door. She glances over her shoulder to make sure you’re okay and you follow her out with a foggy mind.

You already can’t wait for the next time.

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7 @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @500daysofmarissa @tobeawriter98 @hapuchika @r0se16

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #covsfics

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marvelwitchergilmore · 19 hours ago

Text

One Night

Summary: Joaquin Torres x fe!Reader -> One Night is never just one night.

Disclaimer: 16+ with sexual themes, FwB/enemies to lovers, swearing, platonic!Kate Bishop. Not Proof Read.

One Night.

They say it just takes One Night for everything to change. You just didn’t expect it to be that night.

When Kate walked into the compound kitchen and living area that morning, she had been expecting no-one. Not a single person.

Clint was at home with Laura and the kids, Natasha had wrangled Steve and Sam to help her plan Yelena’s birthday party, Bucky had been sent to talk to the cake shop since the owner seemed to always take a shine to him and practically melted any time he walked through the door. She was in her late eighties, but was quite possibly the most terrifying woman Natasha had ever met. So, Bucky it was.

Kate figured Joaquin would still be in bed since he’d finished up his work pretty late last night. He was still in his office when Kate walked by, having worked two hours of overtime herself.

As for Tony and everyone else, they were taking their long awaited vacations.

And as for you. Well, Kate had never woken up before you. In fact, nobody had. Not even Steve who’d wake up at four-thirty every morning to go for a run. Everyone was pretty sure you didn’t even own pajamas. They’d never seen you in them, for starters. And Kate was 97.6% sure you were a vampire, or some kind of supernatural creature that never seemed to sleep.

But that morning…

That morning she walked into the kitchen and living space to see you, stood by the kitchen island, stirring some creamer into your coffee, dressed in pajamas.

Kate had to take a mental image. Maybe more than one. You were human?!

Your hair was down from the usual braid-into-bun. You were wearing a short length, earthy green robe. With, from what Kate could gather, was a matching set underneath.

You hadn’t spotted her yet, which was also unusual. You’d usually say the person’s name before they even walked into the room, already knowing who they were. It made trying to get the jump on you all that more frustrating.

But Kate couldn’t even take any satisfaction out of scaring you when you jumped after spotting her, because you were in pajamas.

“Jesus, Kate. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Why were you in pajamas?

Was it your birthday?

No. Natasha had found out your birthday after hacking Shield’s computer system. It wasn’t your birthday.

Had you finally taken time off?

Were they a present? Maybe a Secret Santa gift for last year?

“Kate?”

“You’re in pajamas.”

Those were the only words she could form as she tried to figure out why.

You chuckled and looked down. “Yeah. Because it’s the morning and I just woke up.”

Kate’s eyes almost bugged out of her head. “You slept in?”

You looked at her, a little dumbfounded. “Yeah. I had a late night last night.”

“Doing what? You usually clock off at six like the rest of us.”

You shrugged. “I had some paperwork to catch up on. Are you okay?”

Kate had to physically shake her head in order to restart her entire body. Once she had done that, she moved closer into the kitchen like a normal person.

“Yeah. Yeah. Just surprised to find out you own pajamas. I thought you just kinda woke up ready for the day.”

“I wish, but no.” You smiled before lifting your coffee mug to your lips. And you were glad you had something to cover your face with because what happened next was not a situation you had fully prepared for.

“So, now that I know you own more than just tactical gear. I was thinking we could-”

“Morning.”

Kate looked behind her after hearing Joaquin’s voice as he walked inside, also in his pajamas.

“Morning,” you replied.

Kate’s head whipped around to look at you as Joaquin passed her. “Coffee?”

“In the pot,” you told him.

Kate was starting to give herself whiplash as she looked between yourself and Joaquin. The cogs started turning and the longer she watched both of you, the faster they started turning until they all finally clicked into place.

“What were you saying, Kate?”

Kate’s mind was screaming.

“Kate?”

The chair she had been sitting on practically fell over. “I need to speak to you. Now. Right now.” Kate rounded the kitchen island before taking you by your elbow.

“Hey, watch my coffee.”

Keeping a hold of your mug, you tried your hardest not to spill any as Kate dragged you from the room, down the hallway and around the corner and through the double doors that led out to a different section of the balcony.

“Kate, that the hell is wrong-”

“You slept with Joaquin?!”

Your shoulders somehow both relaxed and tensed. “Oh. That.”

“That?!” Kate spat in shock. “That?! Y/n!”

“It’s not as bad as it seems.”

“It’s not as bad as it seems? It’s not as bad as it seems?”

You looked at her, “Are you just gonna keep repeating what I say?”

“Y/n! It’s not like you two are known for frollacing on a beach together. Quite the opposite.”

Kate had you there. It wasn’t exactly a secret to people that you and Joaquin weren’t the best of friends. Or even co-workers. You didn’t know what it was, you just never got along. You spent more time fighting with each other that it would be more believable to be known for doing as much on a beach together, rather than frollocking.

“Kate-”

“How-How did this even happen? How long has this been going on? Oh, my god. Was it an act? Just to throw us off the scent?”

“No, no, no. Kate.” You put your coffee down on a table before taking her by the shoulders. “It’s nothing like that. It was just one night.”

Kate just sighed, “It’s never just one night.”

“Yes, it is.”

Kate became a little calmer, or rather, was starting to internalise her freak out. But it didn’t last long because the minute you let go of her, she threw her arms in the air. “God, I can’t believe this. God, what are the others gonna think?”

“They’re not gonna think anything because they’re not gonna find out. It was a one night thing. It didn’t mean anything.”

“You’re in pajamas. How long ago did-” Then Kate shook her head. “Nevermind, I don’t wanna know. Actually, yes I do. Hm, no. No, I don’t. Hm. Yes. No. Yes. Okay. No wait. Don’t tell me. Tell me.”

“Kate?”

She just nodded. “Tell me.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, suppressing the smile on your face.

“Yes.”

You waited for her to stop you again, but when she didn’t, you finally told her.

“It was late last night, and yes, he’s good. Whoever he ends up with will be a lucky woman.”

Kate looked up at you, a little shocked. She was pretty sure that was the very first compliment you’d ever given Joaquin. Like, ever.

“Wow.”

Kate finally sat down. After a morning training session and finding out about you and Joaquin…she was exhausted.

You sat opposite to her at the coffee table.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

You raised an eyebrow with a chuckle escaping you. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Kate looked at you. She did. She was more curious than scared. “How about I go and get dressed and we can head into the city? Go and check out that new boutique?”

“How do you do that?” That was what Kate had been planning to ask you before Joaquin walked inside.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

Over the next five hours, Kate asked you every question she could think of twice.

What the hell happened?

Did he kiss you first? Or was it you?

Did you enjoy it?

Did he enjoy it?

What the hell happened?

And you’d explained everything. At the makeup counter, at the deli, inside the curtain set up for two dressing rooms in the new boutique, at the coffee shop and on the drive both in and out of the city.

“I just…I can’t even imagine you two having a conversation. I mean, that’s what gave it away this morning. You never tell him where the coffee is, even when he asks. And you never say good morning to him.”

You chuckled. “Kate, it’s not a big deal. It was just one night.”

“That’s what they all say. And before you know it…it’s not just one night anymore.”

You had just rolled your eyes and brushed it off. You and Joaquin had both agreed before and after that it would be a one time thing.

You’d kissed him by accident. And after pulling away, he’d pulled you back. It had only gotten more heated from there until eventually you collapsed beside him in his bed. You’d both fallen asleep shortly afterwards and as much as part of you wanted to stay laying beside him when you woke up, you knew you couldn’t.

Though, maybe you should have. It would have saved you watching Kate have an aneurysm at realising exactly why you were in your pyjamas, why you had slept in, and why you were talking to Joaquin like you actually considered him a friend of some kind.

And you were both adamant it was to be a One Night thing. But apparently neither of you had factored into the conversation how good it truly was. Not just the sex, but not fighting each other all the time.

“I need you.”

You’d been walking down the hallway, minding your own business, when Bucky suddenly nearly pulled your arms out of its socket as he dragged you inside the training room. “Sam’s stuck me with the elementary kids.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” You asked, sounding a little mad.

“Just demonstrate something to the kids.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. You and Joaquin figure something out.”

“Joaquin?” You practically threw up his name before Bucky answered, “Yes,” and threw you towards the training mat where you were met with Joaquin.

“Okay, kids, these two very helpful volunteers are gonna show you what sparring is.”

“We are?” You and Joaquin asked.

Apparently you were.

Which was how you found yourself and Joaquin explaining small moves that the kids could copy, safely. However, Joaquin had been enjoying himself far too much, so taking the opportunity to explain a small self-defence method, you sent him flying to the floor.

All the kids took in a breath, some laughed, some gasped.

But once Joaquin laughed, letting the kids know he was okay, they all relaxed.

“Okay, rugrats. You’ve got fifteen minutes to use the climbing frame!” Bucky announced before letting the kids run free. Meanwhile, you remained on top of Joaquin.

“That was fun.”

“Really got the drop on me, didn’t you?”

“Those kids were boosting your ego far too much.”

“My god,” Joaquin breathed. “Are you jealous?”

“Hell no,” you laughed. “Just don’t think your ego needs inflating anymore than it already has.”

“Well,” Joaquin suddenly flipped you and had you pinned under him. “I could say the same about you. You forget I know what I’m doing, Angel.”

For that last part, he leaned down and whispered it low so only you could hear. A slight whimper threatened to escape you but when you were met with Joaquin’s eyes once again, one of the kids had dropped an end of a bench, reminding both of you where you were and who you were around.

Carefully, Joaquin climbed off you before lowering his hand down to you to help you up. Without thinking, you accepted. You were greeted with the same kind of electricity you’d experienced that night when he’d intertwined his fingers with yours, pinning them above your head before tantalisingly moving down your body…

“If you don’t need me?” You called out to Bucky. He brought his forgotten attention back to you both.

“Yeah. Thanks!”

You just nodded, before nodding at Joaquin. His hand waited as long as it could to let you go as you walked away, his gaze trailing after you and you left the training room and hurried back the way you came before Bucky had pulled you inside.

Later that night, long after the training room and a short while after dinner where you and Joaquin had tried to avoid contact; seemingly making more than either of you had done in three years. He knocked on your door.

All he wanted to do was check in on you. Maybe apologise for what happened in the training room. Maybe ask why you hadn’t scoffed at his choice of food combos at dinner like you usually did. But instead, once he opened the door, the wind was knocked from him completely.

“I just wanted to-” Joaquin was trying to find his words again after seeing you, but he was struggling.

But that didn’t matter. Because your lips were on his almost instantly. Pulling him inside, his hands pulled you closer to him. You shut the door and he pushed you against it.

Hours later, sweating and gasping for breath yet again, you both told each other it was just a One Time thing. Well, a two-time thing.

Yet, just as Kate had predicted, it wasn’t.

“It happened again.”

Those were the first words out of your mouth as she opened her apartment door. “I told you.”

“What happened?” Yelena yelled from the living room, a pint of ice cream in her lap.

“It’s Y/n!”

That was all Kate had to say as she invited you inside for Yelena to reply, “Did she and the Bird Boy sleep together again?”

“Did you tell her?”

Kate shook her head as she locked the door. “She already knew. Don’t ask me how.”

“Did she bring drinks? This conversation is gonna need drinks!” Yelena called out.

Over the next three hours, you sat on Kate and Yelena’s couch, mortified at what had happened.

“I told you it wouldn’t be a one time thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be a one time thing. If you both enjoy it, and I can tell you do-”

“Yelena!”

“What?” Yelena asked. “You’ve been less pissy since the first time. I’m just saying…if you both enjoy it, enjoy it.”

“But it’s more than that.”

“What is?”

When you didn’t answer, both Yelena and Kate looked at each other, already knowing.

“Y/n…”

Kate pushed your hands from your face. “Do you like Joaquin?”

“No! No, of course not!”

Yelena dug her spoon into her pint of ice cream. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

You just groaned. “I can’t. What? Why are you smiling?”

“No reason.” Kate said, shaking her head.

“She thinks you and Joaquin are gonna get married.”

“Yelena!” It was Kate’s turn to yell at her roommate.

“What?”

You looked at Kate. “You really think that? Really?”

Kate had been the one person to see everything. Every reason you gave as to why you didn’t like Joaquin. And clearly this marriage concept to her wasn’t new.

“Look, I just think, sometimes, the lines between love and hate can be a little…fuzzy. Yelena?”

She just shrugged. “If you want to fuck him, fuck him. But if you love him…”

You barked out a laugh. “Whoa, hey, hey, okay. No. No. We’re not- no. I don’t love Joaquin.”

Yelena hummed to herself, holding up her spoon, “The lady-”

“Hey,” Kate raised her voice and Yelena kept hers silent, but still acted out what she was going to say.

“Kate?”

“Look,” Kate took your hands in hers. “Maybe this was it. But, Yelena’s right. If you like Joaquin, maybe you should tell him. Before someone gets hurt.”

It was sound advice. And you gave yourself some time to figure it out. Maybe it was just the sex. Maybe he’d just muddled your brain. Time away would be good.

But time didn’t fix feelings as you came to find out.

After the third One Night, you’d accepted a three month placement from Hill. Maybe time away would do you good. And it worked, for the first six weeks. Joaquin didn’t cross your mind once.

Until the day he walked inside your tent with some of his tech gear, “Where can I set up?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Don’t sound too happy to see me.”

You would come to learn Joaquin had been sent in place of Yelena. A woman you sent a very, very long text to: who only replied with a kissy face and a good luck symbol.

“I’m gonna kill her.”

“What?”

You looked up at Joaquin, “Nothing.”

It took three weeks and thirty different fights, including mini spats, for something to break between both yourself and Joaquin.

“Do you do this by accident, or do you just enjoy being a pain in my ass?”

“Says the guy who can’t leave me alone to do the work I’ve been trained for!”

“Well excuse me for giving a crap about my team-mate?”

You barked a laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you. I’m pretty sure you’d rather fly me to the top of the Empire State and drop me.”

“Believe me, that hasn’t not crossed my mind once or twice.”

You were just standing opposite each other, your chests heaving for breath when all of a sudden his hands were in your hair, your hands were pulling his overshirt from him and his lips were crashing against yours.

With his tongue dipping inside your mouth, tasting you, he moaned. “I’ve missed this.”

Shaking your shirt from your arms, your hand slipped into his curls and pulled his kiss closer to you. As you ass bumped against the table set up, Joaquin moved his kisses from your lips to across your jaw and down your neck.

It was the first time neither of you talked about it being a One Night thing. Because, between the kissing and the breathy moans, a silent agreement had been made. This could never have been a One Night thing.

You couldn’t keep lying to yourself. You’d missed it, too. You’d missed him.

And part of that conversation came to a head the next night when Joaquin found you in your tent since you’d been avoiding him all day.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

“Joaquin-”

“No, I don’t wanna fight. Not tonight. I just want an answer.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Yes, you have. Despite our history, I know you, Y/n. You’ve been avoiding me. Why?”

You stopped folding your clothes and looked at him. For the first time in forever, you too didn’t want to fight him. Not with him standing there looking all…Joaquin-like. A kind, yet worried face. A comfortable presence.

You moved closer, pulling him in to kiss you. This kiss was different. Rather than raw and needy for sex, it was a little more delicate. But there was still a force behind it.

“Because I’ve missed this, too. I’ve missed you, Joaquin.”

Joaquin looked you in your eyes as you stood, inches from his face. You weren’t lying. Even when you’d been fighting him, and he’d been fighting you, one thing he’d known since the beginning was when you were lying.

He was apparently the only person you knew with that skill, which just added another thing to the list of why you hated him so much.

You weren’t lying.

Joaquin didn’t say anything. He just kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you.

And for the first time, you both took it slow. Well, slower.

“I think this is gonna be more than a one time thing.”

You laughed as Joaquin broke the silence with his sentence, and his laughter joined yours until you kissed him, crawling to straddle him under your bed covers.

By the time you both got back, it was like nothing had ever happened. You and Joaquin seemed to fall right back into your old ways with each other.

But none of it was real.

The truth was in how he kissed you late at night, and in how he would brush his hand across your hip as he passed you in the kitchen. It was in the way you’d pull him around the corner in an empty hallway and kiss him. It was in the way he’d lean against your body and it was in the way a quiet moan, only he could hear, would leave you as his leg pushed between both of yours.

The truth was in the way he’d watch you as you sat up in bed, reading over different mission material. It was in the way you’d look at him when he was training in the training room, early in the morning, the sun kissing the sheen of his skin as he ran his third mile on the treadmill.

The truth was in the way he followed behind you, no matter who was around either of you. It was in the way you both fought less with your superiors about being placed together for different training exercises and missions.

The truth was in the way you had both been slowly falling for each other, despite wishing for the opposite.

“I’m gonna ask Y/n on a date.”

That had been the statement Joaquin had blurted out to Kate one afternoon when everyone else was at training.

“W-w-what? Oh, yeah. No, that’s cool.”

Joaquin just looked at her, “You’re a terrible actor.”

“I am not!”

“I already know you know.”

Kate relaxed. “Oh, okay then. So, you’re gonna ask her out? Finally!” Kate smiled.

“I just can’t decide where. I want this to be perfect. But I don’t want to set us up for failure.”

Kate watched as Joaquin sat beside her on the sofa and pulled out his phone, scrolling through the different options he had written down in his notes app. Any of the options he had would be good.

But that wasn’t what made her smile.

It was the fact that Joaquin was putting so much thought into it. He always put a lot of thought into things, but knowing it was for you. For both of you. It made her want to say “HA!” to Yelena.

But if Joaquin was being completely honest with himself, from knocking on your door and hearing you walking to open it, he’d never been so nervous in his entire life.

“Joaquin,” you seemed surprised. Probably because he had knocked in a way that might throw you off in thinking it wasn’t him, giving him a few more seconds to psych himself up.

“I want to take you on a date.” Well, there went the speech he’d prepared. “And I’m hoping you’ll say yes because this isn’t just-”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes,” you repeated. “I’ll go on a date with you.”

“You will?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

Joaquin smiled before stepping inside and kissing you before you closed the door.

You didn’t quite know when or why, but you and Joaquin had gone from being at each other’s throats aggressively to it being affectionate. And for some reason - one that Kate would probably explain to you one day - you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

And neither would Joaquin.

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tttabii · 1 day ago

Text

— 심재윤 DEDICATION FOR YOU

JAKE SIM X READER

note: where he has his own instagram. fan!reader x idol! jake. word count : 2363.

YOU WEREN'T NEW TO FANSIGNS. Living a short subway ride away from the venue made it simpler, but this time somehow felt... different. Maybe it was the white dress you got, simple, flowy, not revealing but just revealing enough to feel a little self-conscious.

Maybe it was the seven hand-made hoodies in your tote bag, customized for each Enhypen member based on every subtle detail you'd picked up over the years. Or, more likely, it was because you were going to see Jake. Again. Your day one bias.

As the line shuffled, your heart raced. And finally, it was your turn.

You took a step and walked up to Jake's table. You gave him the most genuine smile you could muster with how shaky your nerves were at this point. He quickly scanned you—respectfully, but still noticeably—and glanced over you again, his expression softening the second time.

"Hi," he said in that low, friendly voice. "What's your name?"

"Y/n," you replied as you did a small bow. "I... have been a fan since debut. You've been my bias since day one."

Jake's eyes lit up. "Really?" he asked, and you nodded shyly, placing your favorite album in front of him. "This means a lot. Thank you."

As he twisted the cap off the marker, you swallowed a little courage. "Um... Can you sign somewhere else instead?"

He titled his head to one side, looking confused. "Where?"

You reached your arm out a little. "Here."

Jake blinked. "Wait—your arm?"

You nodded. "I want to get it tattooed," you confessed, feeling your cheeks turn hot. "It means a lot to me."

Jake froze, surprised—eyes wide with astonishment, and then softened to something between admiration and awe. "That's... wow. That's real commitment," he said softly. Jake carefully made his way to your arm, always moving at a careful speed. "You're really going to tattoo this?"

"I am," you whispered.Suddenly, there was a blast of wind that rushed through the venue. Hair flew everywhere and stuck to your lip gloss. You cringed, trying to tidy up, embarrassed to look like a mess in front of him.

Jake chuckled a little. "Hey, hey—here." Jake reached for your hair and pushed it behind your ear, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His eyes were focused and kind. You felt like you couldn't breathe for a moment. Somewhere in the crowd your friend tried took a picture with shaking hands. Other fans nearby gasped quietly, a few squeals erupting.

You were flustered beyond compare, but Jake? He was composed. Calm even. As if this moment involved the two of you."There's," he said, smiling, "Much better."

Your time was almost up. You handed him the bag with the hoodies."I made these... for all of you. Custom. I paid attention to your styles."

Jake looked at the bag, then back at you, you could tell he was quite stunned. "You made them?"

You nodded. "Hope you like them."

"Y/n," he said, repeating your name softly like he didn't want to forget. "You're amazing."

You left the table on a cloud, the signed arm, the warmth of his fingers just barely grazing your hair, and how he said your name, played over in your mind like a favourite episode of a drama.

That evening, the fan photos began popping up.Your interaction was everywhere.

That same night, you sat on your bed in a cross-legged position, focused on your phone, and suddenly you saw a notification for Weverse Live. You didn't even have time to blink before you opened the app.

Jake was live. Wearing your hoodie.The same one you stitched yourself and designed to have (incidentally) his name just barely stitched in like a real hoodie would have it. The cozy, oversized, shade of a navy blue you picked just for him, knowing he once said dark blue was soothing.

And now, it was on him. On live. You could not stop smiling.You recorded the whole thing on screen record, took too many screenshots and even posted your favorite one on your small account on Instagram.

@yn__archive 🧵: i made the hoodie for all the members and they wore it 😭😭 im crying real tears #enhypen #jakesim #fanmade

Within the hour you were flooded with comments.

"GIRL YOU WON IN LIFE"

"how does it feel to be God's favorite??"

"He literally looks like a boyfriend wearing his girl's hoodie"

"Petition for Jake to @ you himself"

"Drop the tutorial PLS"

You grinned, but had no idea that far away, Jake—the Jake—was also scrolling through Instagram.

On his personal account.

He had been curious ever since you gave him and the others the hoodie you made.

And then he found it.

Your account.

He tapped your username, and there you were: a fan account curated to perfection, packed with little edits, photos, café visits, outfit shots, and the day you were all at the fansign. He swiped through a few, smiling to himself about how warm and sincere your big love for Enhypen seemed. Then he froze.

There it was, a photo from when you went to the café for his birthday last year. You were standing in front of a giant Jake banner, holding his photocard next to your face, smiling.

Your fitted off-shoulder top showed a little bit of cleavage, your skirt was pleated and barely hit mid-thigh, and you sat with your legs crossed elegantly.

You looked so pretty. So confident. So playful. Jake felt frozen. "Woah..." he said to himself.

He couldn't tell what he was drawn to first—your face, your outfit, or the way you held his photocard like it was the most precious thing. He double-tapped without thinking. Once he realized what he'd just done, he panicked—unliked. Then he hesitated and did something impulsive.

He shared your post from earlier. The one of him wearing your hoodie.

@jake.sim [Shared post from @yn__archive] "Thank you. This is so amazing. We loved them 🧵💙"

Fans went wild.

You stared at your screen in shock. Jake had just shared your post. Your DMs flooded. Your notifications blew up. Your follower count doubled in minutes.

Some fans were excited, others playful:

"Girl he knows you exist now."

"If you don't marry him, I will."

"He SCROLLED through your page. He saw everything."

Including that birthday café post.

And yet... he still shared your post.

You swallowed hard, heart racing.

Somewhere across the city, Jake sat back in his chair, still on your profile. Yeah. He remembered your name now. And he definitely wasn't forgetting your face.

Times goes by fast, and somehow concert season was already upon us again. ENHYPEN's new Dark Blood era had you feral—the songs, the choreography, the visuals—and Jake's new blonde hair? Absolutely lethal.

So naturally, you dyed your own hair too. Soft blonde, not too bold but enough to be noticed.

Maybe it was dramatic. Maybe it wasn't.

But you didn't care. You were finally seeing them again.

Front row. VIP. With your best friend. And you were going to look hot. You went all out: black mesh sleeves, leather mini skirt, silver accessories, a little glitter by your eyes.

Your tattoo—the one with Jakes's signature—was peeking out of your sleeve on purpose. Your heart was beating out of your chest as the lights dimmed and screams rang out.

They were on. You basically lost your voice in the first 10 minutes. But then it happened. He saw you. Jake zoomed in on you like a 2-for-1 special the second he spotted the blonde. His eyes went wide for a split second, his mouth twitching at the corners like he was trying not to smile too big.

Your fingers had already started to shake as you reached for your phone, even before you forming a heart with your fingers. Jake jogged over—while still singing—his mic still hot as he sang, quickly forming his hand into the other half of the heart with you. His hand brushed against yours as he held it for a second, and your heart just stopped when he lingered a second longer than necessary.

Then, in the most unbelievable moment in the world, he reached for your phone with one hand, and softly held your fingers with his other, and took two selfies.

One with a cute wink. One with a cute smirk. One with a cute peace sign. One cute smiling face where he smiled right into your soul. He handed it back to you with the most soft expression on his face, like he recognized you.

Like he knew who you were. Then he gently squeezed your fingers before continuing down the stage and interacting with other fans.

You were breathless, phone clutched to your chest as if it was a holy relic. Your ears were definitely pink.

Burning, actually. Jake saw.

Jake totally noticed.

Especially the peek of black ink curving around your upper arm—his signature. The one you got tattooed after the fansign.

He stuttered for just a second. Tripped slightly in his step. Luckily, he masked it by falling right into the next beat of choreography like a pro.

But his ears were red too now.

He was still thinking about you as the song ended. And he kept looking back throughout his performance, he was doing his best to not stare at you. That night, you posted one of the selfies on your fan account, with just three words:

@yn__archive "He saw me." [photo: Jake and you, fingers making a heart, matching blonde hair, glowing under the stage lights]

Your comment section went off.

"NOOOO THIS IS A FANFIC IRL"

"THE HAIR MATCHING?? THE TATTOOS?? THE EYE CONTACT???"

"HE'S DOWN BAD MA'AM."

"I know he looked back. I saw it. We all saw it."

And back stage, Jake was still there. Still trying to breathe. Still replaying that second.

And when he was going through his tagged posts later...

He smiled when he saw your post. Hearted it from his private account. Saved the selfie too. He wasn't going to let you be a fan anymore.

The concert felt like a fever dream, not just because Jake had held your hand mid-song, or that he took selfies on your phone, but also because it wasn't just you who saw all of that.

By the time you and your best friend got outside of the venue, Twitter, TikTok, and fan accounts were already blowing up.

Someone had captured video footage of you squealing and bouncing with excitement talking to your friend after Jake's interaction with you.

You were gushing like an actual middle-schooler, "Did you see him? He smiled at me! I swear, he smiled at me like he knew me!"

You were laughing until your friend was fanning and waving you down like you were overheating.

What you had not anticipated too was the way the camera slowly panned, right to Jake on stage. Looking directly at you. The expression on his face was unreadable, jaw tight.

His eyes? Tracking every detail of you, from your dyed hair, to the fit of your outfit, and, yeah, the way your top sat too perfectly on you. He lingered for a moment before quickly turning away, but maybe a little too quick... like he just got caught.

The fans were ruthless.

"Is no one gonna talk about the way Jake was LITERALLY checking her out while she was fangirling over HIM???"

"I SAW WHERE HIS EYES WENT. JAKE. BE SERIOUS."

"That boy is fighting for his life."

"I understand you Jake, I would fold if I had a girl like that as my fan."

You watched the video about seventeen times before throwing your phone down and burying your face in your pillow.

Wow. It was embarrassing. But the cute kind, where your stomach twists and your cheeks ache from smiling.

You shared a casual story with a few blurry concert photos and the caption: "Still can't believe all of this happened. Thank you for the best night of my life 🤍".

You didn't expect anything else. You thought it was over.

But it wasn't. About 3 am your phone lit up. A DM request. From an account with no posts, no profile picture... but one follower. Someone pretty familiar.

The username was vague, like a random sequence of letters, but as soon as you opened it you knew.

🐶: Is it ok if I message you here? I can't follow you because of... well, obvious reasons, haha. But I just- I couldn't stop thinking about what happened earlier.

Your heart skipped a beat. There was no profile picture. No real name. But you knew it was him. The way he typed. The emoji. The timing. Your fingers were slightly shaky when you replied.

you: I mean, you did kind of steal my phone. I think that makes us friends now 😌

🐶: true. I don't do that for everyone, you know.

🐶: also, your hair. You really matched me?? That was insane. I thought I was imagining you for a sec.

You bit your lip. He noticed that? Of course he did.

you: of course I did. Blonde Jake? How could I not?

🐶: And that tattoo. Is it real?

Your fingers paused above the screen before you typed:

you: yeah. It's permanent. like my obsession with you.

🐶: wow.

🐶: can I tell you a secret?

You blinked. Fingers hovered.

you: only if you promise not to ruin my entire existence with it.

There was a pause. Then the next message came in.

🐶: you're the prettiest fan I've ever seen. Like, ever."

You stared at the screen for a full minute, heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

This was happening. Jake Sim just called you pretty. Jake Sim who couldn't follow you but still found a way to reach you. Jake Sim who stared too long. Who tripped over choreography after seeing your tattoo. Who looked at you like you weren't just a face in the crowd anymore.

And you weren't dreaming.

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not-delusional-at-all · 14 hours ago

Text

Tattoo

Ghost x reader

Something a little short and fluffy, hope you all enjoy it 💖

You and Simon had been married for about a year. It's been great... Except one thing. He doesn't wear his wedding ring.

Of course, with anybody else that would be a red flag but he explained that in his line of work, he'd rather not have his finger ripped off and he doesn't wanna lose it when on a mission and that it's nothing against you. Which makes sense but it still bums you out.

Simon sensed that it bothered you and decided to go out and get a tattoo of your initials and your wedding anniversary on his ring finger which completely threw you in for a loop.

"Since I'm afraid of losin' my ring, I did the next best thing" he told you as he showed you the fresh tattoo.

"Si, I don't mean to be negative but aren't tattoos dedicated to your partner bad luck?" You asked. You really didn't want to be that person but every person you've heard of having a tattoo for their partner has ended up splitting up with their partner shortly after getting the tattoo.

"Well, we ain't separating unless I'm dead, so luck can go fuck itself" he shrugged. He didn't really believe in luck like that, so he really didn't care about that superstition. He married you and has every intention on making good on the "til death do us part" line of your vows.

"I appreciate the gesture, Simon. Thank you." You told him. You knew he didn't really believe in superstitions or anything like that and he thought about you enough to find a solution to the ring thing.

"It's not a problem, love. I'd do anything for you. Luck be damned, the only way we're splitting up is over my dead body." he told you before giving you a kiss.

You truly were lucky to have him. Even if he is stubborn as hell.

#call of duty #cod #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #call of duty x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost #ghost x reader

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whereispearlescentmoon · 2 days ago

Text

Hermit-A-Day Day 9: Outfit Swap

A reminder that these are both individual bits of writing that can be read on their own and supplemental material for my fic Glitch .

This one is going to be a little different due to the nature of the prompt! It is, however, something I may make into a longer fic soon because I’m graduating and I’ll have a couple months of doing nothing.

@hermitadaymay

Investigative notes on repeated incidents of clothing theft around the server, taken by the Admin.

Season: 10

Victims: ZombieCleo, ImpulseSV, Skizzleman, JoeHills, CubFan135, Tangotek, Ethoslab, and Geminitay

Initial Incident Report: A number of Hermits around the server have reported articles of clothing have gone missing. The missing items are as follows-

ZombieCleo- One cropped blue t-shirt

ImpulseSV- Three black t-shirts with an i symbol

Skizzleman- One sleeveless white undershirt

JoeHills- One green cardigan

CubFan135- Two black t-shirts, plain

TangoTek- One white t-shirt and one red hoodie

Ethoslab- Two long-sleeve black t-shirts, both with Canada patches

Geminitay- Three green sweaters

Were this only one Hermit, I might think they were just being forgetful. But with this many reports over a couple of months, I can’t help but think someone is pulling a prank. Or clothing hoarding which is an issue we’ve had before. Doc has apparently heard about what is going on and has asked that I investigate because whoever it is may also be the “ore snatcher” whatever that means. Bdubs has offered to take the case to court when I find out who it is.

Update: I’ve compiled a list of Hermits who are possible suspects. The most likely thieves are Grian, Pearl, False, and Ren. Everyone else either lives too far away from most of the victims or is too particular about their clothes to be stealing any. I feel I can probably cross Grian and False off the list, though. All of what was stolen would have to be modified for them to wear it with their wings. Grian has also been lectured about clothing theft before. Multiple times. Maybe I should keep him on the list actually. Anyways, that leaves just Pearl and Ren. I might have to do a snoop around their bases. Or talk to them like a normal person but that’s less fun.

Case Resolution: Well, the suspect ended up showing herself without any further prodding. Namely, Pearl showed up to our last Hermit meeting clearly half asleep (we can only accommodate our nocturnal members so much and today was an unfortunate afternoon meeting) and wearing what is evidently her pajamas. Which is to say, she was wearing Impulse’s clearly branded shirt underneath Joe’s cardigan. Both were too short on her, though the t-shirt was baggy.

She wasn’t even trying to hide it, just arrived in other Hermit’s clothes. Impulse and Joe clearly did not know she had these items as they asked about them after the meeting and she said she thought they “wouldn’t mind them being gone”. The other Hermits with missing clothes then inquired about their own and, yeah, Pearl has them all. None of us noticed because she wears her Postal uniform normally but apparently all of her pajama tops are the missing items. She showed her “stash” to the group after the meeting.

While normally this case would be resolved by the returning of the items, multiple of the victims have deemed Pearl’s behavior “adorable” and have chosen to not prosecute her further.

Impulse told Pearl that she’s always welcome to his things, which apparently they spoke about last season. Skizz hugged her so hard I worried he might break a rib. JoeHills… well he didn’t really seem bothered in the first place, more curious. Cub said Pearl could always “pop across [their] bridge” if she needed more. Tango and Etho insisted to her that it’s part of her payment for being such a good postmaster. Gem said she could keep the sweaters “forever” so long as she promised to wear them to sleepovers. Even Cleo seemed only mildly annoyed and said Pearl could keep her shirt because “it’s not that big a deal anyways, I’m sure you look great it in”. I am utterly baffled.

There seems to be absolutely no discussion of retribution among the group, as this seems to have not been a prank but Pearl swiping articles of clothes when she was at their bases earlier in the season.

Note to self: Investigate whether Pearl might have some supernatural powers of suggestion? If any other Hermit did this I think they would be brought to court.

#hermitaday #zombiecleo #impulsesv #skizzleman #joe hills #cubfan135 #tangotek #ethoslab #geminitay #pearlescentmoon #fic

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softsunnyy · 2 days ago

Note

WAIT WAIT BC I HAVE A REQUEST and i think its a good one too

so yk how there's that Halsey song (bad at love??) when it says

Got a boy back home in Michigan And he tastes like Jack when I'm kissing him

u could write one where reader isn't with Jack anymore and is fucking someone else (could literally be anyone tbh) but she keeps thinking abt how jack does it better, and comparing the two 🥺🥺

so… you should know about the thousand Jack edits i've downloaded with that song. My gosh.

🚨 emotional and physical cheating, you never really loved the poor guy, Jack is a bit of a stalker; mentions of sex with your ex. 🚨

this feels a bit like a part one

you moaned against his ear, feeling his cock slide in and out of you at a slow, patient, and gentle pace. You can feel his love, his devotion, his need to please you…

and those are some of the many things that makes him so... different.

you closed your eyes, trying not to see his face, because you knew it would turn you off, that when you opened them you'd find brown eyes, straight, light hair, skin that was too soft, and a sparkle in his eyes that was too innocent for you. And you knew it would eat you up with guilt, that it'd feel bad, so you preferred not to see it, to let yourself be guided by the sensations and imagining…

imagining other hands touching you.

because nothing had been the same since Jack and you broke up, since you parted ways, vowing to maintain respect, contact, and a good relationship. It makes it worse knowing that you broke up not because you fell out of love with each other, or because something felt wrong, but because his future is bright, and you didn't want to interfere when his life was just starting. I mean, how could you do that to him?

and so much time has passed, you've tried to rebuild your life, meet new people, change your appearance and the people you choose to have sex with. That's how you ended up with Matt, a guy who doesn't even like hockey to begin with. He´s... short, less muscular, and has friends who look at you like you're their next meal. He's not your type, you're not even sure you like him, but you'd already gotten yourself into it too much, and it was the only thing that kept your mind off things at times.

the problem is, his magic started to wear off this summer, when you took him to Michigan to meet your family, not knowing he'd be there before the regular season ended, in a sling, since he'd apparently injured his shoulder. When you saw him, your breath caught in your throat; it's like you'd gone back to your late teens, letting go of the love of your life. And your memories came flooding back, as did the feelings you thought you'd buried deep in your heart.

now looking at Matt feels like a reminder, like a constant call to wake up and realize what you're doing with your life. And you try to ignore it, to not feel this way, but when Matt slides his cock into your walls, you realize it's not working.

and you remember those big, not-so-soft hands that traveled over your body and touched you possessively, leaving bruises on your sides, and touching your tits like a toy. His cock, hammering inside you, bruising your cervix, expanding your walls, while your hands scratched his back.

you remember his head between your legs, and how his eyes were tattooed on your soul, consuming you. And his lips, his chest, his arms, his thighs.

your mind goes back to Jack, and you moan, you whimper; Your body reacts like he´s there with you, and it's when you cum that your mind betrays you, your mouth works before your conscience, and then you say his name.

Matt stops moving, perplexed, confused, offended. You don't realize it yet, but when you open your eyes and see him, you understand.

his name is Matt, not Jack.

and of course, the fun was soon over, and he had questions, valid and charged with emotion.

you´re not proud to say you lied, that you looked him in the eye and, barely able to breathe, told him "Jack" doesn't exist, that you'd made a mistake, that your mind was confused by the pleasure you were feeling. And to continue your lie, you offered him to look at your phone, to check your messages, whatever would make him feel confident that there was no Jack in your life. You´re not proud to say you breathed again when his expression relaxed, when his eyes softened and his hand touched yours once more.

and you had to pretend, letting the weeks pass, and wishing Jack had left Michigan. Sadly, your thoughts won't leave you alone, and you can't concentrate anymore, not even during sex, so you have to fake it, clenching your walls around Matt´s cock to make it look like you've come; moaning in a more pornographic way; doing it in positions where he couldn't see your face properly.

by the third week, you decide to go out, go to a bar, and try to enjoy yourselves. He knows you'd normally like the idea, and continuing to reject him would only raise suspicions again. So you get ready, put on some nice clothes, and try to remember what security feels like when you go out.

when you arrive, the place is packed, and you see many familiar faces, who greet you, hug you, and some look at you curiously, asking you about the new guy, while you just pray they don't ask about him.

the hours begin to pass, Matt has a couple of drinks under his belt, and you're still on your first drink, feeling your blood run cold. There's a pair of eyes following you, you know it, and you can't even pretend to laugh at the things Matt says to you anymore.

you know who's watching you.

because even though you haven't turned around, you know Jack is behind you, probably a couple of tables away, watching as Matt gets a little more touchy, with his hands on your waist every so often, leaving little kisses on your shoulder, and saying stupid comments that you no longer find funny.

and you know, you know he's upset, that he doesn't like what he sees, but he doesn't come closer, doesn't intervene, and the longer this passes, the more tense he makes you feel. You don't know what he wants, and you try to get away from Matt, to reclaim your space, your sanity, and your courage, but it doesn't work, and you feel heat in your curves, in your ass, in your legs, because you know he's looking at you, analyzing what has become of you.

and you wonder if he likes it, if you look pretty to him, if he still feels fucking hot when he sees your thighs.

Matt's hands return to you, and you want to throw up, you feel guilty, dirty, like you've betrayed him, letting someone else try to take you over. You feel paranoid, and you don't have the strength to look at him.

and Jack? he wants to laugh, to scream, to push you away from that guy and hit his face for thinking he can touch you. He doesn't even feel betrayed; rather, he's... almost amused.

he's just so... different, and he knows you don't like Matt. God, he even wants to correct the guy, tell him to be rougher, to put his hands in the right places, to make sure he has your attention.

does he even know what he's doing? because it seems like he doesn't know you. Not like he does.

so he watches, like you were his prey, analyzing every move so he can choose the perfect moment to attack and devour you. He's more patient than ever, enduring the tension in his body, the sweat, the heavy breathing, and the strength in his body that makes him want to get up and walk over to you.

then Matt kisses you, and it's like time stops. You try to kiss him back, but you close your eyes and all you can see is him, putting one hand on your neck so you can't pull away, while the other caresses your hip, slowly moving up to reach under your tits. It's what Jack would do, and you try to focus on that, but it's impossible. It's not him.

so you pull away, abruptly, excusing yourself to go to the bathroom, trying to make your way through the sea of people, feeling cold sweats, your hands trembling, your lips burning, and you struggling to breathe. When you see the bathroom door, you try to walk faster, but a hand grabs your waist, pulling you back, causing your body to crash into the wall.

in front of you, you see him, the man of your dreams, nightmares, and deepest desires, looking at you with a cocky smile, like in these few hours he's learned everything he needed to.

your mind clouds, and you try to get closer to him unconsciously, almost instinctively, which makes his smile grow bigger.

"what are you doing?" you hear him say, and you want to cry, jump into his arms, and kiss him. You've missed him so much, and having him in front of you has brought back all your feelings, all your memories. You can't even answer what he asked because you haven't processed his words. You feel dazed, overwhelmed, and your mouth opens and closes, but you don't say anything.

he raises an eyebrow, amused, and with his good hand, he caresses your waist, as if nothing has changed, as if he hadn't acted on impulse after spending hours restraining himself from doing this.

"i asked you something. What are you doing?" he said it again, looking you up and down, taking his time, enjoying your reaction.

“what do you mean?” you asked, stunned, not knowing where to put your hands, and trying to tear your gaze away from his eyes.

“you’re letting him touch you in a way you don’t like,” he commented, like admitting he’d been watching you wasn’t important, and that slowly brought your awareness back to you.

“how do you know it’s not what i like? time has passed,” you responded defensively, trying to create some distance, though the wall made it difficult.

damn, you hadn’t seen Jack in so long, and this is the first thing he says to you?

“you never liked being touched like that.” his hand remained firm, making it impossible for you to move too far away, applying just the right amount of pressure.

and it frustrates you to know that he remembers, that he knows where to touch, in what tone to speak, what to say, and how to look at you. It’s like you’re an open book to him, because he took all the time in the world to get to know you, to learn so much about you that nothing would take him by surprise, so that you’d never have a complaint, so that he could make you happy.

“people change, Jack.” His name fell from your lips smoothly, and you saw how he hesitated for a moment, like that had been his weakness. However, soon the smile returned to his lips.

“yeah... but i doubt you’ve forgotten what you really like” his hand moved up slowly, passing over your tits, down your chest, to your neck, applying pressure near your jaw, making you look at him, unable to lower your head. “Tell me, did you miss me?”

Jack doesn’t even know what he’s doing. It wasn’t his plan. It’s not what he’s thought for weeks since he saw you when you arrived in Michigan.

it wasn’t supposed to happen this way, but now he can’t pull away. Not when his breath hits yours, and you’re so close that your eyelashes will soon brush his skin. Not when he’s drunk on your perfume again. Not when your eyes look at him in that same way they always do.

like you’re silently begging him to fuck you right there.

and his question distracts you, and you wanna lie, tell him no, but the hesitation in your voice is enough to give him the real answer, which makes him feel confident, smug, like he just won.

“well, i did miss you… and i never thought that when i saw you again it would be with… him.” The last part was said with a disgust you couldn't ignore.

and deep down… your chest felt warm knowing he doesn't like this.

“Jack…”

“are you satisfied?”

three words, three that took your breath away once again, because you know he's referring to everything. He's not just asking you about sex. His eyes don't lie. And you wanna lie, for him and for you, but you can't, you can't form a false sentence in your mind.

so you stay silent for a couple of minutes, not even hearing the music, the conversations, the people. Under his gaze, you feel small, and like it was just the two of you, like old times.

your silence might be answer enough, but he wants to hear you say it, wants to know that you wanna join your lips with his, that you too want to sneak into the bathroom behind your back and remember who you belong to.

“he's not you, Jack,” you whispered, ashamed, guilty. And he took it as a green light, attaching his mouth to yours like a magnet, like it was the sign he'd been waiting for.

and that night, when you find yourself back at home, without Matt, with Jack, and with no regrets… you know your life is about to turn upside down once again.

but you don't regret it. Not when you feel his hands on your body again, and his cock being welcomed home, forcing its way into your soaked, tight pussy.

and you're sensitive, you cry, you whimper. You feel him everywhere, and you know the night is just beginning now.

he makes you feel alive, like you're a teenager again, and you wouldn't change that for anything.

all that's left is to apologize to Matt, if Jack doesn't do something about it first.

#☀️💞#softsunnyy #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x fem!reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #jack hughes fic #jh86 x reader #jh86

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ysrjune · 3 days ago

Note

Write Sam and Scott being pantsed rn.

Pwetty pwease

Scott likes to wear sweatpants and baggy jeans all the time. Whenever he wears jeans, he usually has a belt, but recently, he lost it. It was a nice expensive one too, so you just know his dad was so annoyed.

Today was a cold, rainy day. You had Scott for the class right before lunch. He was always so annoying. So, to get at him, you decided you'd pants him outside after the bell rang.

Before this class, during the passing period, you had talked to the two boys he had the next class with. You asked them to help them with your prank, and surprisingly, they agreed right off the bat. They thought Scott needed to be humbled sooner or later.

He walked in between two other jocks that he was friends with as he was on his way to their group table. The table filled with a few guys from the basketball, baseball, and football team. A few guys from volleyball and soccer stood around them a lot of times. A couple of girls who were hungry for their attention were usually there too, but the boys never paid them any attention.

Anthony, the tall brunette with curly hair and pretty green eyes, looked back at you and winked, letting you know that he was about to pull the stunt.

"Hey man, your fly is open." Anthony points out and then actually zips it down quickly in time for the other boy to undo the button. "What the hell is wrong with you wackos? Are you totally gay?!" Scott says. Before he could say or do anything else, you came close behind him and pulled his pants down by the back pockets.

"WHAT THE??" He looks down at his jeans that were now pulled at his ankles. Everyone around was laughing and pointing. Atleast his boxers aren't anything embarrassing. He looks behind him and growls in annoyance before picking his jeans back up and buttoning them back up. "All of you are gonna a swirlie later." He says as his cheeks and ears stained red.

Sam has one belt and he doesn't even use it often. He doesn't use it correctly either. It's more for fashion. Studded and way too big for him anyway. Corey and you are his only friends. You're all the same. Weirdos that nobody likes because of your interests and style. "You know what we should do?" Corey asks. "Smoke a joint without Sam and text him about it?" You reply.

"Thats genuis, but no. We should pants him. How hilarious would it be to humiliate him like that? Like, what if he's commando!" Corey laughs. "I like the way you think, blondie." You smile. You could see Sam walking up to the table with that usual resting angry face.

He raised an eyebrow with attitude as you and Corey walk up to him. "What are you losers doi—AYE AYE AYE!!!" Sam panicks as soon as you force his shorts down. Unfortunately, he was wearing boxers today, so it wasn't that bad. Everyone points and laughs at Sam. He could cry, but he didn't. He would rather die than let anyone see him even tear up. He also felt a little betrayed that you'd do this to him. You guys are his only friends. The only ones who didn't bully him (with actual meaning behind it.)

"I'll hate you for the rest of my life." He says angrily after picking his shorts back up. Then he walked away and went who knows where. Probably to a classroom or the gym to cool off and be alone.

@bxbyysstuff @anakinstwinklebunny @lovethestarrs @valloos @anisangeldust @xo-yaaaaaasxo @anakinca @dollfilmz @alexlovesysrjune @sockiess @sythethecarrot @speaknow-sw @loveamira @alealuvshayden @mvst4far

#asks!#moots 💕#hayden christensen #sam monroe #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe hayden christensen #life as a house #sam monroe life as a house #scott barringer x reader #scott barringer higher ground #hayden christensen x reader #scott barringer #christensen hayden #hayden christensen higher ground #hayden higher ground #higher ground

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tswwwit · 9 hours ago

Text

Widower part One is over here.

And the second part is here!

Bill pulls him out of the party early, which might be the only cool thing he’s ever done.

The rest of the demons busy themselves drinking, dancing, and getting into fights. Dipper hears the cacophony fade as he’s dragged out of the reception hall and through a door that seals itself behind them. Once shut, the noise drops from a din to distant rumble and the thudding of bass.

Good riddance. The last hour was loud and chaotic and bright, with enough alcohol in the air to make him feel tipsy just by breathing. Getting the hell out of there is so great he barely minds who’s guiding him out.

Besides. He doesn’t have much of a choice.

With his hand held tight in Bill’s own, there’s no way out. Trying to pull it away or shake it off is futile; the demon only tightens his grip until his knuckles ache.

Dipper keeps his eyes on this monster’s golden surface. Any sudden movement. Any twitch, and next thing he knows he’ll be a burst of molecules, or frozen in stone - or something else entirely.

Whatever evil plot is going on here, it’s so secret Dipper’s never heard a hint of it. Not in all the rumors, not in all his research. No demons have mentioned it in interrogations; thought to be fair the questions were likely the wrong ones. No scouts have ever delved into the Fearamid. Nobody else has seen what he’s seen.

Those pictures.

If Dipper hadn’t stared at the damn things himself, he would have thought it was crazy. But those paintings were made with skill and careful brushstrokes, held in solid paint and canvas, too real to be anything else, and wearing his face. It’s…

An illusion, maybe? Dipper has that talent, he’s hard to fool. But it could be crafted so well it even messed with him. Or maybe mental magic, instead? A creation that left a blank space his brain filled in with whatever Bill wanted.

Something’s up, anyway. A trick. A ploy. What Bill did back there with the eye-mouth… thing, is a distraction from what’s really happening.

Dipper shuts his eyes against the memory, but he can’t seem to push it out of his head. Metal lips on your entire face will do that.

“Alright, that’s far enough.” Bill says, stopping so abruptly that Dipper nearly walks into him. He whips around with a dangerous gleam in his eye. “Here we have a little privacy.”

Dipper says nothing. He glares with all the fury he can muster, though he’s pretty sure bewilderment leaks out around the edges.

Time to learn Bill Cipher what really has in store for him. He steels his shoulders, preparing himself-

And metal slams against his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs with a ‘thump’.

Dipper wheezes, clutching at his chest. Then pats it. Solid gold pushes into him, warm to the touch. A tightness around his waist. This is -

He stares down at the golden point of a demonic triangle. Bill’s got a hold of him again, gripping the back of his shirt instead of looping arms around him like ropes. The top hat floats just by his face, tilting when he bumps his cheek against it.

For a moment he thought - but no. Nobody else is in the hallway. The party rages onward in the distance. The low buzz of the crowd hums through the Fearamid like the sound of appliances, and no horrible new monster turns the corner to devour him.

Then this isn’t a distraction for another demon. And whatever Bill’s doing doesn’t hurt. Dipper isn’t clipped in half at the waist, even though the arms are uncomfortably tight. Bill’s warm too, but water-bottle temperature instead of boiling oil.

Bill’s just stuck to him like the biggest, most godawful sticker. His grip adjusted a few times, there’s an intermittent squeeze - but it’s not harmful.

Dipper waits for a short, heart-pounding half-minute, and still nothing happens. Slowly, tension seeps out of him as it continues being… not bad.

…Okay, even for a demon this is weird. Something’s up.

“Hello?” Dipper asks. He taps Bill’s metal surface with two sharp raps.

“Mhgh,” comes the response. One of those strange small hands tightens on his back, balling up the fabric of his shirt.

Dipper feels his mouth thin into a line. Partly from irritation at this demon, and, okay. A little at himself.

Man, he really needs to work on this. Even now, when all rational thought says he should be terrified, that there’s a malevolent force close enough to obliterate him - all he feels is annoyed. And not even as much as he should be.

“What the hell, Bill?” It’s pretty much the only thing Dipper can say. It’s not like he’ll just figure out the answer when he’s dealing with the weirdest guy in the world. “What’s going on?”

Bill speaks again, but it’s muffled in shirt fabric. His arms tighten; vibrations rumble through Dipper’s chest and into his skin. And how the hell does that work, when he doesn’t even have a mouth.

Great. So helpful. Dipper’s not trapped in place, thankfully. He can turn around and even walk a few steps unimpeded, with Bill floating along. Retreating doesn’t gain him any space, though; his back merely hits the wall with his involuntary armor plating still stuck to him like glue.

Not dangerous, then. Just awkward. It’s almost a running theme with this creature.

The attachment has already gone on for several minutes without stopping - but not painful doesn’t mean not uncomfortable. Between unnatural body warmth and the flannel shirt that he’s wearing, Dipper’s sweating from heat, not fear.

And Bill’s still talking, in an overly-long ramble. One Dipper can both hear and feel, with that odd vibration of his not-mouth. Fingers twitch against his back, and - oh god, is Bill drooling? That horrible multipurpose eye could ooze any kind of fluid.

Cursing under his breath, Dipper gets a hold of the top point, pushing it away even though the corners dig into his fingers. Getting a grip on smooth, angled metal is hard, especially when it’s fighting against him.

When finally he peels Bill off by an inch, the demon’s single eye is slightly bloodshot and staring fully forward at his torso. “-burrow into your chest and live where your lungs used to be, right next to your-”

Dipper lets go, and Bill snaps back into place like a rubber band. Okay. Really didn’t need to hear that. Thankfully it was just a metaphor; he would have felt it if Bill was trying to core him like an apple.

…Though Bill is pressing pretty hard. Between that and his weird magic, who knows? Maybe he could lodge himself into Dipper’s organs without him noticing. That’s definitely not alarming or horrifying or - god, he needs to get out of here.

Dipper shoves at this asshole, cursing under his breath. Goddamn it, he should know better than this. The stupid party threw him off, along with his own shock. He almost forgot where he was, and what danger he’s facing. Who, exactly, he’s dealing with.

Grimacing with effort, Dipper digs his fingers underneath the metal plate on his chest and pushes. He avoids touching the hat. He has a gut feeling that would be a huge mistake.

“Mgh!” Bill complains, still muffled by the shirt - but his resistance wanes with the unrelenting pressure. Eventually he pops off like a disconnected suction cup, floating a few feet away.

Dipper backpedals, hitting the wall again and bracing his palms against it. His chest is fully intact, other than being slightly damp from unnamable fluids. His legs still work. If he needs to take off running, he… likely won’t get far, but he could be annoying to catch.

Bill blinks a few times. Then his lower eyelid curves up again. The bloody intent from earlier in his sclera has vanished, leaving only mild amusement.

“Looks like you’re in tip-top shape! For a human that is. All the bits in order!” Lower eyelid rising, he pats Dipper’s chest. “Lungs heaving, blood pumping. All anxious and tense. The whole shebang!”

Yeah, he would like that. Torment. Terror. Bill thrives off every drop of the stuff.

Dipper says nothing. His nails dig into his palms.

“What’s the matter, sapling?” Bill tilts to one side, looking oddly… confused. “How ‘bout a smile? A hug? A long, tortured speech about how much you missed me?”

“I’m not giving you anything.” Dipper grits out between clenched teeth. “You’re an asshole.”

Bill rolls his eye, a long dramatic motion. As if Dipper’s protest is less a roadblock than a speedbump. “Yeah, yeah, I know I am. Now how ‘bout that hug?” He spreads his arms wide, wiggling his fingers in a come-hither gesture. “Double points for a smooch, but I’m not particular!”

The face Dipper makes must speak clearly enough, because for the first time in a while, Bill’s eye stops smiling. His arms drop to dangle along his bottom edge.

“Hold up.” Eye narrowing, Bill examines his captive with considered slowness. His gaze focuses on Dipper’s face, like he’s trying to burrow into his brain instead of his chest. “How much do you remember?”

“What’s there to remember?” Dipper asks. Why does everything this monster does have to be weird? ”What the hell is going on?”

His words come out tinged with hysteria, which is… not the look he’d daydreamed about. If he ever met this creature in the flesh, he wanted to be cooler than this, damn it. He just didn’t account for how fucked up it’d be.

“Ah. Right.” Bill says, enthusiasm dimming along with his surface. He’s almost plain gold now, with only a hint of light. For a beat he simply floats there, eye focused on something distant. “There’s always a catch, huh?”

One black hand reaches up as if to touch Dipper’s face. Smacking it away, Dipper scoots sideways, keeping his back to the wall. Then moves little further when Bill follows, arms tucked behind his back and eye-smiling again.

“So! Look at you! A fresh young mortal delivered right to my door, and a feisty one at that!” His upper eyelid wiggles in irritating amusement. “You worried what I’m gonna do to ya?”

Dipper stands stiff, arms at his sides. “Not even a little.”

Hearing Bill laugh again is annoying, but - okay, Dipper can see where it’s coming from this time. Pulling the defiance card in the presence of Bill Cipher is possibly the stupidest move ever. Second only to doing it in front of a crowd. Or maybe cursing him out in the same venue. So overall, it’s only third place stupid in a slowly growing list.

Still, Dipper won’t budge. He’ll never cower. It’s simply not in his nature.

While demons bother other people on sight, Dipper’s… never really gotten the big deal. Sure, they’re dangerous. But a lot of things are dangerous, like lions or spiders or snakes. The safest way to handle those creatures is to learn their behaviors. And while demons are strange, upsetting, and much more difficult to handle on average - there’s still an internal logic behind their actions, if you can figure it out.

Dipper’s always had a knack for that nonsensical brand of sense. A useful instinct, one that’s come in handy dozens of times, and helped him take risks others wouldn’t. It’s hard to fear what you understand.

Hell, he should be terrified of Bill Cipher. Everyone else is, for extremely good reasons. Rational, intelligent ones. And Dipper is afraid, in a rational, intelligent way, with the urge to run or fight or freeze tugging at his thoughts, and a tight, bright energy in his chest.

But he’s not going to panic like your average guy. That’s just dumb.

The Lord of Nightmares, Bill Cipher, is powerful - but he’s still a demon. Still just a guy, of sorts. A really insane, sociopathic guy from a totally different realm of existence, who could turn Dipper into fleshy salsa in a snap.

A fine sweat is building on his neck and running down his back. Dipper isn’t sure if it’s nerves, or residual heat from the too-long grasp.

Right now, his instincts say Bill isn’t pissed off. That he’s safe-ish, possibly because he’s more amusing than annoying.

But they also say: Tread carefully.

“Everything else seems in order. Tip-top shape, like I said!” Bill floats back and forth, examining Dipper with a critical eye. Then the top lid lowers as he starts to frown. “But the memory situation? Ugh. You shoulda demanded an exception to the rules, kid. It’s not like you didn’t have leverage.”

“I don’t - what the fuck are you-” Dipper cuts himself off before he starts shouting. He takes a deep breath, and holds it for three seconds before letting it out.

Anger has a place, but this isn’t it. Right now he needs answers.

“Tell me what’s happening.” He says, finally. “Please.”

It comes out weaker than he’d like. He sounds deflated, or maybe just tired. Hell, he feels pretty tired, come to think of it. The trip to the Fearamid was short on comfy places to sleep.

“Oh, that’s simple.” Bill beams, glowing brighter as he throws his arms out in celebration. “You’re back from the dead, kid!”

Dipper stares for a long, long second. Then he shuts his eyes, rubbing at them briefly. Bill tries to pat his arm, but he jerks it away.

He can’t have just fallen asleep on his feet. He’s not that tired. So unless being dragged to Bill’s throne room incurred an invisible, painless, and extremely severe head injury - he must have heard that right.

“I’ve… never died though?” He turns it into a question at the end.

Maybe he did hit his head on something. Maybe he’s dead already, and this is a strange new form of afterlife torture. Not pain and suffering, just sheer confusion.

“No, you definitely did. It was real mortal of you. And really rude.” Bill glares. Truly glares, a look that has Dipper leaning back from the banked anger behind it - then he shrugs, dismissing the whole thing with his strange smile. “But since you decided to show back up, I’ll let it slide. Water under the bridge.”

Such a quick dismissal, for such a… tense topic. Dipper fidgets, not sure how to respond.

It’s one thing to know that Bill Cipher’s a madman, and another to see him flicker through moods like a flipbook, with no rhyme or reason to it.

“You know that’s insane, right?” He asks. Then grimaces.

Okay, probably a bad choice to mention it - but he has to bring it up. Bill Cipher might be self-aware enough to know he’s crazy.

”Man, the rules you must have broken to get out of the afterlife - whoo! Tell me all about it when your brain catches up to your spirit.” Bill says. His gaze is focused over Dipper’s left shoulder with his pupil dilated, looking out into some ancient memory. “It’s the second coolest thing you’ve ever done.”

…Or maybe he’s not.

Either way, he’s ignoring the comment. Or hell, maybe he literally didn’t hear it, lost in his own insane thoughts. Dipper’s known this guy for less than an hour, and he’s pretty sure it could go any which way.

“But man, oh man, we have got a lot to go over once you’re back in the memory business.” Bill taps a foot in the air, looking impatient. “See, I have-”

“No. Back up.” Dipper interrupts, adding another entry to his ‘stupid move’ list. He waves rapidly before Bill can start rambling again. “Start from the beginning.”

Thankfully, he isn’t blasted into particles. His flesh stays meat and blood instead of granite. Bill even adds another check on the ‘insane’ list by looking amused.

Dipper guesses his instincts are still working correctly; one relief in a day full of weirdness. Hell, of the many demons he’s encountered, Bill’s astonishingly easy to read.

“Sure thing! There was a summoning, a curse, buncha near-death experiences, yadda yadda yadda -” As he lists them off, Bill rolls his wrist around in a ‘and then y’know’ gesture - “So to make a long story short, you’re my husband!”

Having said that, he sets fists on his angles. His glow brightens as he quite literally beams with pride.

Dipper opens his mouth. Then shuts it.

Head injury is looking more and more appealing. He pats the back and sides of his head, but it just messes up his hair. When he checks his hands for blood, Bill laughs at him. Thus making things infinitely worse.

Oh no. He was so, so hoping he misheard that, too. Bill Cipher’s weird enough, it could have been ‘harm plan’ or ‘harp fan’ or ‘horse band’, but it’s not any of those. Just the common, context-proper word of -

But that means Bill Cipher was married at some point, to a human apparently, and - Demons do that? Is that actually a thing? Why would - how would - and Bill’s a shape, for fuck’s sake, shouldn’t he be after something more… angular? A human wouldn’t-

Again Dipper opens his mouth, searching for a response. He looks Bill right in his gleaming, pleased, eerily huge eyeball, and fails to come up with anything.

This - that can’t be right. It’s too weird.

When Dipper finally manages to speak, what emerges is, “Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh huh.” Bill retorts. He sets fists on his sides, eye shutting. “I can prove it, too. You-”

“No, you can’t.” Dipper snaps before Bill can start yammering again, like the jerk he is. “Because that’s insane. Anyone who would marry something like you would be-”

“Completely mad! Totally off his rocker! And you’re right!” Bill interrupts in turn, glowing bright. A wallet appears in one hand, and he flips it open to reveal a long, long scroll of photos. “I mean, just look at this nerd! Does that seem sane to you?”

“What-” Completing the question is out of the question; Dipper has to back up as pictures keep tumbling down in a connected line. They pile in front of him in violation of every rule of physics.

In the first of the reel, a man flips off the camera, glaring at the taker. In another he’s asleep, hair tousled and resting on a yellow pillow, in the next he’s fleeing from something with a terrified look on his face. Dozens upon dozens, a never-ending flood.

And in all of them, each and every one. Printed on glossy paper and carefully kept -

A doppelganger smiles back at Dipper, wearing his face.

He stares with growing anxiety, along with an odd twinge of embarrassment. Having so many pictures of anyone would be weird, but it’s twice as bad when it seems like him.

Near the bottom of the pile, Bill himself makes an unusual appearance. The photo taken at arm’s length, camera held out for a selfie that captures the grin of his eye and the specks of blood on his surface. A gold chain trails down from one of his corners, an oddity that Dipper nearly misses -

Because next to him, that same man is pressing lips on Bill’s side, with his palm resting just under the tie. Some of the blood on Bill’s surface is smudged by his fingers.

Smooches, Bill said. The word didn’t seem real until he witnessed it. Even now it doesn’t quite compute.

Why Bill would want that is beyond Dipper’s comprehension. Metal can’t feel anything, right? And Bill himself feels nothing in his cold metal heart except amusement, boredom, or anger. It’s probably the attention he craves, and - who the hell would ever give him a peck on the angles? Especially when he’s speckled red with -

Dipper’s stomach churns, imagining the scene just out of frame. The body that must be lying below, and the twisted shape of it.

“See? One mortal, totally mad for me. Proof.” Bill says with triumph. The photos fold back up into his wallet and get tucked away into the same abstract space. “And I got even more where that came from.”

More than this? Is there more gore, too? Things Bill hasn’t shown off yet? More smug satisfaction in his eye, and more of of Dipper’s face worn by a stranger, doing the unthinkable?

“I- no. Look, I’ve never met you before.” Dipper finds his voice, though it’s thin and reedy. Folding his arms over himself, he rubs at them. Feeling cold and warm, in odd flashes, like his body can’t decide how to react. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“In this life.” Bill wags a finger, as if chiding him for forgetting. “But that’ll change! See, you and I are thick as thieves. Married as hell! The most intertwined interspecies couple this segment of the multiverse!”

Despite himself, Dipper glances down again. The photos are gone, but the memory remains.

Bill, and blood. Those two are constant companions. He kind of expected those, and thought he’d see more than his fill of the latter.

The unexpected addition to the horrors is printed on photo paper, and painted on canvas. A monster who would touch Bill after someone clearly died right there. There’s zero context that makes standing near a corpse romantic.

“Shocked by your luck, huh? And you should be with a spouse like yours truly!” Bill drifts closer, hands clasped together. He tilts towards Dipper with what might be nuzzling intent. “You won the jackpot, kid.”

“Fuck off,” Dipper says, flat. Then, as Bill doesn’t take the obvious - shoves the bastard, sending him drifting through the air. “I said, fuck off.”

“Aw, calm down, sapling! I’ll even get you a ring this time!” Bill dismisses his protest and floats right back into his personal space. “We can do all the human ceremonies and costumes, have a party - then really get down to business.”

Whatever ‘business’ is, Dipper doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to be here. He was kidnapped, he didn’t have a choice. Then Bill Cipher took him as tribute - the asshole - hoping he was the kind of person who would -

“Now,” Bill says, floating dangerously close. His arms spread as if to capture him again, eye wide and pupil blown out. “How ‘bout that kiss?”

Oh. Dipper is not doing that.

Knuckles to eyeball is a squishy sensation. Like punching a huge goddamn stress ball, only one that’s warm and wet and distinctly alive. Surprisingly gross too; Dipper wants to wash his hand immediately.

But the triumph of watching Bill Cipher recoil, swearing and clutching at his closed eye, is a dream come true.

“OW- you- Ugh, right in the cornea.” Bill says, with feeling. Dipper’s next punch lands in his palm, and the hand grows as it closes it around his fist. “Hey hey, you only get one of those for free. Next one’ll cost ya.”

“Fuck you.” Dipper tries to retrieve his fist to no avail. Damn it. A second punch was a bad idea; he’s given Bill another hold on him.

Using his other arm turns out just as useless - and more alarming. Bill merely sighs, sounding tired, just before grabbing him around the torso with one comically huge hand and shoving him back a step.

“Yeesh. Okay, okay, you’re mad. Great.” Bill says, more seriously. He floats up without releasing his hold, looking Dipper over. “And actually mad at that. What gives?”

The sheer audacity has Dipper spluttering. How could - Bill should know why nobody in their right or their wrong mind would ever. That.

“What are-” He starts, trying not to grit his teeth too hard. It’d make yelling at Bill more difficult. “Okay, I could go over a whole list of horrible, fucked-up things you’ve done in the last two decades.”

“Yeah, yeah, forget those! I’m not talking abstract moral arguments,” Bill says, setting his other fist on his angle. “This grudge seems personal. What put your boxers in a twist?”

Right. Dipper was distracted earlier. Under the barrage of total insanity, he almost forgot what really mattered.

He pushes against the constraining hold, sneakers squeaking on stone. If only he could get a little closer, that eyeball would be in punching range again. This bastard should know his crimes. Why Dipper will never do anything.

“You turned my sister into a statue.”

“Oof.” Bill dims, eyelid lowering in a frown. He almost looks chagrined. “Yep, that’d do it.”

Dipper lets him know exactly what he’s like, with several choice curses. A quick kick using Bill’s grip as a backboard doesn’t land. Damn this bastard for dodging.

Bill ignores his struggles. One massive thumb pats Dipper’s side as he thinks, rubbing under his eye.

“Say, I think I know the gal you’re talking about! Got caught in that errand I ran a year back. Long hair, right?” He waves over his point and under his hat. “And a big sweater! Looks like she got her braces off recently and forgets to use her retainer! I wondered if something was up with that one. Seemed real familiar.”

“Great. You remember.” Dipper grits out. So Bill noticed his sister. Out of thousands of anonymous statuary, she stood out. He isn’t sure whether that makes it better or worse. “All the more reason to kick your ass.”

This awful, evil, bastard laughs at his threat. Like it’s nothing. Dipper sucks in a breath through his teeth, muscles tensing as the boiling anger in his chest sings a song of ‘punch this asshole right in the eye again’.

“Oh, you,” Bill watches him struggle with that same awful amusement. Almost fond. “Whatd’ya know, it’s my lucky day! Once I get this sorted, we’ll be back to married bliss inside a month. No harm, no foul.”

“I’ll show you harm.” Lurching forward, Dipper strains against this preternaturally powerful asshole to no effect. Goddamn demonic powers. Stupid shapeshifting. He hates it.

“Eh, you’ll be less worked up in a bit.” Bill rolls his eye. Another arm pops out and he claps hands together, rubbing them with glee. “And then we can get to wedding planning! It’ll be the biggest bash of the century!”

Dipper groans, a mix of anger and frustration. Bill’s deluded. Insane. Totally distracted. Isn’t Bill Cipher supposed to be smart?

The distraction, though, gives him just enough leeway to worm an arm out of Bill’s grasp. Fist thumping on the thumb, he hisses out the obvious. “I’m not marrying the guy who killed my sister.”

“Good thing I didn’t kill her then, huh?”

Dipper’s jaw shuts with a click. His fist stills in midair - probably for the best, it was waving around uselessly - and lowers a careful inch. “What?”

“Nobody in the garden’s dead, kid. They’re just trapped in an eternal dreamless sleep!” Bill glows brighter, waving down the hallway towards another corridor. “One five-minute walk, a little magic, and bam! You get your sister back.”

Dipper mouths the air, but comes up with nothing. Bill’s words bounced into the gears of his mind like an expertly thrown wrench, grinding them to a halt.

Get her back. Then. It’s - wait, but everyone says that’s not - how would it even work.

“Ha! Didn’t expect that, didja? That’s adorable!” The giant fist releases Dipper, disappearing into nowhere. Bill claps lightly as if watching a delightful little show. “So, you interested? It’s no big deal for me to refleshify her, but if you prefer a more rocky relationship-”

“No!” Dipper blurts. “No, I do want her back. But…” He gives Bill the dirty look he deserves. As scathing as he can manage. “I think you’re lying.”

“Fair, it’s kinda my thing. But this offer’s legit, kid! Pinky swear.” Bill sticks out his little finger, waggling it in Dipper’s direction. “One intact, healthy, perfectly alive sister, for one hand in marriage. Whatdya say?”

Dipper says nothing, turning slightly away. Ignoring the insanity of that offer, along with the little finger slowly encroaching on his personal space.

There’s more info to slot into the many mental files he has on Bill Cipher, the liar, monster, and so-called snappy dresser. He’s truly after something, if he’s offering deals to a human. Usually that’s a lesser demon thing.

Kind of a shame, in informational terms. If Bill did offer deals to people, maybe they’d know more about him. As it stands, nobody knows how Bill does… most of the magic he does. Animating objects, summoning creatures, manipulating the world around him. Impressive by any metric, but too weird to get a grip on.

The most study has gone into his human statuary habit. Preventing more victims from being zapped away has had tons of money and time thrown in its path, to no effect. It’s incredibly hard to transmute living substances into anything else. The power it’d take to reverse the process - changing from one solid material back to the complexity of life - that’d be insane.

The thought makes Dipper hesitate. Insanity is Bill’s thing.

And his magic is weird, too. It doesn’t work like most magic should, just as bizarre and nonsensical as its master. It defies definition almost by definition; Dipper knows at least five scientists who have torn hair out trying to make it math properly.

So it’s possible, maybe. That when Bill turns someone into a statue, he could change them back.

Dipper glares at Bill’s offered hand. Taps his foot on the floor, looking around, then lifts his chin in defiance. “Prove it, first.”

“Yeah, you would want proof. Skeptic,” Bill says, in that same irritatingly fond tone. “Out to the rock garden then! I think I remember where she’s stashed.”

This time when Bill seizes his arm, Dipper pulls it back slowly instead of jerking it away. It gets a huge eyeroll, but Bill floats forward and beckons him along.

Dipper watches him drift down the hallway for a bit. A few meters on, Bill turns back and waves him on again, looking annoyed - and Dipper sighs. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and follows. Not like he has a choice.

The corridors of the Fearamid are just as convoluted as he’d imagined. They twist and branch and shift in noneuclidean directions, and odd angles. Dipper could swear they’re upside down at one point as Bill leads him on a merry trail to an outer edge.

One thing has been clarified, at least. Why he’s here.

Bill Cipher, at some point, married a human. Some jackass who bargained with this jackass, probably for power. Who knows what schemes and scams they got up to. What torments and terrors they caused, what the fuck made a person smile at a triangle like that for crying out loud - Anyway. Bad things happened.

But that, as all things, came to an end. Bill’s partner in atrocities and nightmares did the mortal thing, and got away from his insidious grasp. He must have forgotten that mortal beings have an expiration date. Super disappointing for the demon. Annoying, even. Bill said as much himself, it was really rude to leave like that -

But it’s all better now. Isn’t it.

He’s found a replacement.

If anyone needed further proof that Cipher was completely off his rocker, that would be the final fucking straw.

Dipper grimaces at the thought, and ignores Bill’s curious look. They can’t be far from the statue garden now, and he’s not taking any of this demon’s obvious conversation bait. Tuning out the questions and commentary and keeping his trap shut, even when it’s really tempting to argue with some stupid, arrogant statement.

That’s demons for you. They never leave well enough alone. Always causing trouble, getting into what you least want them to get into. Bothering decent people for kicks.

So as fucked up as this… reincarnated dead husband thing is, it’s very demonic. The backwards, flipped-around logic they use fits it to a tee.

Like, yeah, okay. Dipper can admit the pictures are damning. No wonder Bill was thrilled to see him, it was like finding an exact copy of a favorite mug that got broken. A resemblance that’s downright eerie, almost enough to make him wonder -

Except the guy in question was simping over a triangle.

Absolutely not. Never in his life, or any life, ever. Bill’s dead husband and him are nothing like each other, not where it matters.

Plus, there’s the obvious.

Reincarnation isn’t a thing.

For as long as magic has been studied, scholars have tried to get at the nature of the soul. Kings and emperors have sought the secrets of immortality - which has never panned out. Prophets and madmen have claimed to be so-and-so reborn, only to be disproven.

Souls are unique. The personal fingerprint of the individual, written in energy and riddled with life. Even now it’s hard to pin down exactly what it is, other than there’s something.

And as far as anyone can tell - after thousands of years of research tackling the facts, over and over - once a soul’s gone? It’s just gone. Out into the ether or afterlife or whatever. Maybe just vanished entirely. Leaving the mortal plane and coming back is unheard of.

Bill comes from another dimension, though. Maybe he doesn’t know it works?

Dipper glances at Bill’s back, glowing bright again. He’s humming a tune to himself, breaking out in patches into quiet, joyful song. “...don’t know where, don’t know when!” Before trailing off again.

…He definitely, absolutely doesn’t know how it works.

Dipper’s the captive of a bizarre, bored madman, looking for any puzzle piece to shove into the annoying gap in his picture-perfect life.

This delusion isn’t going to be easy to dispel. Considering Bill’s excitement, he won’t want to drop the idea, he certainly gives no fucks about human opinions, and the eerily similar features are a huge sticking point. Not to mention he wasn’t exactly sane to begin with.

So Dipper holds his tongue, and clamps his lips together tight for good measure, even though the questions burn in the back of his throat. The ‘why’ and the ‘how’ and the ‘what the fuck’ will have to wait for later, once he extracts himself from this bullshit.

He’ll hold off on correcting Bill, just for a bit. Right now, a white lie and a lack of denial are on track to get him what he wants.

Shutting up for ten minutes is more than a fair price for his sister’s life.

The sunlight appears well before they arrive outside. There’s no door at the exit, just an open gap at the bottom edge of the pyramid, leading out into a wide expanse of neatly trimmed grass.

Dipper pauses at the threshold. Staring out at a sea of grey shapes against green, extending in a curve along the corner of the Fearmid. It’s bigger than in the aerial photos made it seem. It looks like it goes on for a mile. A yawning expanse of human life trapped in granite, as far as his eye can see.

Which Bill drifts through without blinking, humming his stupid tune. After a moment, he beckons Dipper to follow again, rolling his eye.

“C’mon, your sister’s not far, kid.” He says, drifting towards Dipper with a tilt to the side, like he’s confused. “What’s the holdup?”

Dipper hesitates a moment longer, then ducks in between two frozen shapes. One cowering in a tiny ball, one with his arm flung up in a shout of rage. The weather’s warm, but he still shivers.

“It’s nothing,” He says finally, before Bill can grab his hand again. He brushes his shirt off, and strides forward. “Lead the way.”

Bill leads him through the horrors with total nonchalance. He zigzags among frozen humans like he’s stepping around a messy bedroom floor. His erratic course heads towards a hill in the garden, the only rising point in an otherwise flat landscape, surrounded by tall conifer trees.

The slope to the top is steep, and there isn’t a path or stairs. For convenience’s sake, Dipper snags one of Bill’s arms - ignoring the cackle - to use his unstoppable floating like a ski lift, letting it pull him upwards.

“Here we are!” Bill exclaims, slowing to a stop in the middle of a wide swath of grass. “Right where I stashed her.”

Dipper glances around. Tall pines surround the clearing, shading it from the sun with their wide branches. Behind him would be a great view of the statue-spotted field, if he was into that kind of thing. The middle of the clearing has a massive golden statue, ornate and gaudy like all Bill’s dumb bullshit -

But his eyes skim right over the features, landing on a small stone figure beside it.

“Mabel!” Dipper bursts out of Bill’s hold, crossing the clearing in seconds. The turf kicks up under his shoes as he skids to a stop in front of his sister.

The stone face of his sister looks back at him in perfect stillness. She looks over her shoulder as if having caught sight of something, and she’s not sure what it is yet. The confused expression is trapped eternally in smooth grey rock.

He almost can’t believe what he’s seeing. Part of him believed he’d never see her again. Written her off like she was a missing person. At best he’d be able to look at the latest distant photos, and wonder which speck she was in the crowd. But she’s here, and intact. Albeit a little stiff.

Dipper reaches out, then thinks better of it and lets his arms drop. Not daring to touch, not wanting to just stand there. It’s so clear there's nothing he can do - but there should be. This sucks.

“As you can see, your twin’s totally intact.” Bill brushes past him, giving him a wry look. “No cracks, no breaks, not a speck of damage on her!” He adjusts his tie, eye shut with apparent pride. “None of my lawn ornaments get messed with, even when-”

“She’s not my twin,” Dipper says, irritably. Both to shut Bill up, and to correct his weird statement. “She’s two years younger than me.”

“Huh,” Bill rubs under his eye, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, she would be, wouldn’t she? Oh well!” He glows brighter, circling Mabel’s statue before retreating a few yards away. “Take a step back and watch the show!”

Since there’s still nothing Dipper can do about this, he reluctantly backs up. But not too far. He has to let Bill do his magic, but who knows what he’ll get up to after? Best to be nearby, just in case.

Clearing his invisible throat, Bill adjusts his tie. He clicks his fingers together twice, then points forward. Light zaps from his finger, engulfing Mabel’s form, too bright to stare at directly. The magic bursts in Dipper’s senses like a furnace flame, like a bomb going off - he tenses, sucking in a breath.

And when the light vanishes, Mabel whips around in a whirl of pink sweater, completing the motion she was trapped in. The movement also screws up her balance; she flails her arms, squawking as she falls backwards.

Dipper’s glad he stuck close. Before she hits the ground he catches her under the arms, hauling her upright. He gets bonked on the nose by her skull, and curses. He nearly drops her because the overly-large, soft sweater that only his stupid sister would wear is too damn loose.

His sister. Holy shit.

Dipper stands frozen, stiffly holding her upright until she rocks back up on her heels. Mabel shakes her head, making a ‘blugh’ sound and sticking her tongue out in annoyance.

She’s actually - Holy shit.

“Whoa, wait.” Mabel turns towards him, surprise painting her very alive features. She brushes her bangs back, squinting in confusion. “Dipper? Where’d you come from?”

Dipper merely shakes his head. His arms tremble until he steadies them, shoving them down by his sides.

She’s back. She’s actually, truly back, because whatever Bill did worked, and. Wait - how did it…?

Mabel glances up - makes a face at the bright afternoon daylight - and shades her eyes against it. The soft pink sweater bounces as she shakes herself, full of color and motion. Then she yawns like she just woke up from a short nap, looking at her surroundings like she’s never seen them before.

Because she hasn’t, really. Confusion’s a reasonable reaction when you’re in a very odd new location.

Mabel waves at him, waiting for an answer to her earlier question. Dipper manages a shrug, and gets a full-on sister eyeroll for being a useless older brother.

This is supposed to be impossible. Was impossible.

For so long he held that fact close, clenched tight in his hands. Mabel was gone, because of a monster - and it filled him with righteous rage. Driving him forward, lending him strength to fight against horrible odds. He was going to make Bill pay for what he did. And for everything else, too, sure, but mostly for being the bastard who messed with his kid sister.

But now. As Dipper watches his sister move and awkwardly smile, waving a hand in his face - that built-up fury trickles out between his fingers like sand.

No mistakes, or mutilations. No parts missing, no bruises, nothing has gone wrong. She’s here and whole and alive.

Bill just. Brought her back with a snap. Like it was easy.

“So… where are we?” Mabel asks. Her waving hand gets too close to Dipper’s face, and he leans back. “How’d we even get here? Where is-”

Whatever she was going to say next gets cut off as Dipper hugs her so, so tight.

“Oh! Uh, hey, nice to see you too!” Mabel says, with greater confusion but a return of the hug. She pats him twice on the back. Then again when he clings tighter, making a surprised sound.

It’s sentimental, he knows. But he made a promise: If he ever did see her again, she’d get one not-awkward sibling hug. The pins on her sweater catch on his shirt, and he’s pretty sure residual glitter is getting on him and he’ll never complain about either of those, ever again.

Mabel coughs, once. Then, with a gentle push, she holds him at arm’s length, patting his shoulders. The smile has changed to a look of concern. “Not that I don’t like hugs - But bro, I saw you like, yesterday. What’s up?”

Yesterday. Yeah, he did see her the day before. Left like everything was fine, not knowing or even thinking she was in danger. But she’s here and fine, now. After all this time. Thank god Bill could -

Dipper jerks his head up as he remembers where he is, and who’s here with them.

“You alright?” Mabel asks. The expression on his face must not be great, because she trails off. Concern turns to worry. “Jeez, you look-”

“Great, right? Almost as handsome as me!”

Mabel jolts in place, whipping around towards the new voice.

Dipper sighs, and runs a hand down his face. Oh boy. This is going to be… a thing, isn’t it.

Bill, fists braced on his sides, wiggles his upper eyelid. He lifts a third arm to wave at Mabel. “Heya!”

The startled yell Mabel lets out makes Dipper’s ears hurt. Good thing he’s still got a hold of her; that’s the second fall he’s prevented today.

“Bill? Not cool.” Dipper glares at this asshole for the billionth time today. He’s ninety percent sure that interruption was timed to freak her out.

“Nah, I’m always cool.” Undeterred, Bill floats closer, spreading his arms wide. “Nice to meet ya more officially, Shooting Star! How was your nap? Voidlike and existential, I’m betting.”

Mabel laughs nervously, backing up a step. Then another. “Um. Maybe? Ha ha, that’s very-” Seizing Dipper by the shirt, she tugs him close to hiss in his ear. “What is going on.”

“It’s fine.” Dipper says. Then adds, because Mabel’s gone stiff as a statue again, “Mostly fine.”

His instincts say it is, at least. Bill’s not interested in torture or ‘games’ so much as his… matrimonial target. For better or for worse, Mabel’s going to be fine.

Glittery painted nails dig into his arm. The look Mabel gives him could be generously described as ‘skeptical’, but lands closer to ‘have you lost your freakin’ mind’’. Dipper turns away, clearing his throat.

How to explain? There’s a lot she doesn’t know. Hell, there’s a lot Dipper still doesn’t know, he’s floundering only half as much as she is. Where the hell does he start?

“He’s right, you know.” Bill chimes in, wagging a finger. “I’m not gonna hurt ya when you could be useful. You can help with the wedding decorations!”

“Wait, wait.” Mabel tilts out of Dipper’s shadow, suddenly curious. “Wedding?”

Dipper groans, stepping between his sister and the clearly evil demon. Of course that would get her attention. Why did Bill have to get her attention?

“Yep! And as one of the stars of the show, I gotta make this the biggest bash of the century.” says Bill, primping his tie with pride. “No holds barred, no one leaves sober, and more than the average amount of survivors!”

“You’re getting married?”

Dipper lets out an ‘oof’ as his sister barges right past him. Mabel skips right up to the evil, demonic mastermind, clapping her hands in excitement, and he feels his shoulders slump. Welp. He can at least say he tried.

“Oh my gosh, congrats!” Mabel almost reaches a hand out - then remembers what a bad idea that is, and wrings hers together instead. “That’s so exciting!”

“Thanks, Shooting Star!” Bill accepts her congratulations with a bow, doffing his hat with a flourish. His eye-smile is surprisingly sincere. “I’m pretty hyped up myself! It’s been a long time coming!”

Mabel starts giggling. Bill starts cackling. Dipper, for his part, wishes they weren’t getting along at all.

Thank hell it won’t last long. Mabel’s pretty goddamn thrilled about a maniac’s marriage scheme for the moment, but she was enstatued less than five minutes ago. Once she comes to her senses, she’ll realize -

…She hasn’t realized, has she. What happened to her.

All Mabel knows is she was minding her own business one moment, then popped back up in this garden the next. A full year passed by without her noticing. Being zapped into a lawn ornament doesn’t bother her because she doesn’t remember.

Which means Bill was, unfortunately, telling the truth. Eternal, dreamless sleep. The statues aren’t posed like that because they’re in pain. He just scared the shit out of them first.

“-have the best outfits, the best drinks, the best everything!” Bill says, catching his attention again. Dipper grimaces, watching as Bill waves off whatever Mabel just said, hovering right next to her without a care; it’s like he never zapped her into a lawn ornament. “See, we missed the chance to throw a real ceremony ages ago. It’s about time we made up for it!”

“Awww,” Mabel breathes, eyes wide. Her hands are clasped together under her chin. “That’s so romantic!”

“Hey! Nothing about this is- that. No.” Dipper points at his sister, then at Bill. “Both of you cut that out.”

“So,” Mabel says, traitorously ignoring him. She nudges Bill’s side with one soft sleeve, winking like she has something in her eye. “Who’s the lucky gal? Or, um… demon?” A pause, biting her lip as she thinks. “Extradimensional entity?”

Uh oh.

Dipper backs up a step. Then another.

Checking the perimeter revels… no escape routes. Damn it. The clearing’s too wide to have someplace to hide, and darting behind the golden statue would take him right through his twin and his tormentor.

“He’s human, actually! A real feisty cutey! In fact,” Bill says, bright. His pupil widens slightly as he turns towards Dipper, odd glimmers flickering somewhere in the depths. “I think you know the guy!”

Dipper shakes his head, backing up. As both of them focus on his face, he feels himself slowly turn red.

Mabel’s mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ of surprise, eyes going just as wide as Bill’s. Darting looks between him and the demon, hands reaching up to flutter at her mouth. Bill gives her a thumbs up, lower eyelid rising, and she gapes even harder.

No, wait. This is all a misunderstanding. A mistake. A maniac’s delusion, powered by boredom and driven by madness.

But it’s really hard to explain that. Mabel doesn’t know the context, and Bill isn’t going to be easily convinced he fucked up. If he can be convinced at all.

“So here we are! The happy couple!” Bill darts over, taking Dipper’s hand in his. The resulting struggle to escape flaps his arm in a wiggly wave. “I’m thinking a summer wedding. Y’know, wildfire season! We can-”

“Nope.” Dipper says, popping the sound at the end. Getting his hand back is a lost cause, but he can fold his arms over his chest anyway; Bill’s arm extends like a bungee cord. “Not happening.”

“Hey! One sister, one ring on your finger.” Bill reels on him, glaring now. He jabs a finger at Dipper’s chest. “Fair’s fair, a deal’s a deal, and this was more fair than ninety-nine percent of ‘em.”

“What deal?” Dipper turns his most skeptical look on his so-called suitor. Nice try, Bill - but he knows the rules. “We didn’t shake on it.”

“I- Hm.” Pausing in the middle of raising a finger, Bill lets his arm drop. The scowl of his eye is remarkably petulant. “Fine. Ya got me on a technicality. Pedant.”

Now it’s Dipper’s turn to be smug. Bill didn’t think he knew about demon deals, did he? They aren’t complete without signing the dotted line - or in Bill’s case, palm-to-palm contact.

For a supposedly clever entity of terror, fooling him was easy. If getting things his own way all the time has left him unable to anticipate tricks… Dipper can use that.

“So…” Mabel speaks up. They both turn towards the interruption, and she points between the two of them. “Are you two…?” “No,” Dipper says, at the same time as Bill’s, “Absolutely!”

Two eyes meet one, equally conveying ‘I can’t believe you said that, asshole’.

“Seriously? Still?” Bill asks, with surprisingly genuine confusion underneath the annoyance. It’s a decent lie; he even squints. “You got the sibling back. Problem solved! We can-”

“I said I had a list,” Dipper interrupts, stepping forward. It doesn’t intimidate like he wanted, though. The bastard almost looks pleased. “You know, the atrocities? The conquering? The…” He pauses, frowning. “Cut that out.”

Bill stops flapping his hand in time with Dipper’s speech, making a ‘pfft’ sound. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, heard it all before. You gotta get more specific, sapling! Communication’s a big deal in relationships!”

“Oh for- Look at this!” Dipper gestures vaguely. He doesn’t need to be specific. Waving his arm in any direction covers at least a hundred statues. “How many people did you turn into lawn ornaments?”

“Couple thousand, give or take a few.” Bill replies, as nonchalant as if he was stating his shoe size. “What about it?”

Instead of shouting again, Dipper takes a second. He breathes in slowly, then out again. He’s gotta focus here. Stay calm, and clear.

Okay. Demons. Demon rules, demon logic, and one demonic mastermind who has a totally different set of morals, in that there’s none. There’s ways to get through that, even if he has to use a verbal sledgehammer.

He rubs at the bridge of his nose, hoping the direct route will work. “Bill. That’s bad.”

“That’s a collection,” Bill objects, because of course he does. He shuts his eye, huffing haughitly. “Just ‘cause you have bad taste doesn’t mean it’s not art.” “It’s not art! It’s wrong and bad and -” Words fail him. Tact goes out the window. Dipper flips this bastard off, getting right in his face. “I’m not marrying someone who keeps human lives in his sculpture park.”

“What?!” Bill’s eye goes wide. He blinks rapidly, then shakes himself, glaring right back. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” Dipper states, hoping the reminder of a certain expired human hits home - and it does, because while Bill doesn’t flinch, there’s a brief twitch that’s similar. He follows up on the blow, adding, “We’re not getting together. Ever.”

Oh. And that is absolutely a flinch, as Bill jerks back a half-inch in the air. His fingers flex as if wanting to grab again, before his arms fall and dangle off his lower edge.

Guess he didn’t like that. Good.

Dipper savors the sight, squaring his shoulders in defiance. Take that, asshole.

Before he might have kept playing along, if only to find a way out. But Bill screwed up. Mabel’s back, Dipper has what he wanted, and now it’s gloves off. Bill’s ‘reincarnation’ insanity will need multiple whacks before it starts to crack, so he better start now.

This monster wants another human toy. The old one broke too early for his taste, ruining his fun - so he thought he’d replace it with another.

But the last guy cooperated. Fawning over his bloody surface, smiling at his crimes. A human on easy mode, basically.

If Bill wants to pretend his ‘husband’ is back? Fine. Let him try.

His delusion doesn’t stand a chance against Dipper.

Bill mutters to himself, eye narrowed. He glances around the grounds, then at Dipper. Briefly at the golden statue, then at Dipper again. A long pause as his gaze drifts between his captive and the courtyard, thinking his triangular thoughts.

It takes a while, too. Whatever he’s going over, it’s giving him a lot of trouble. His pupil flickers through several symbols before it snaps back to normal, and he snaps his fingers with an idea.

“Okay. I see how it is,” Bill says eventually. “Say that, maybe, a few more humans could go ambling about in their miserable, short, fleshy lifespans. Would that make you less-”

“You know what it’ll take.” Dipper snaps, glaring right back. “All of them, Bill.”

A moment later his brain catches up to what came out of his mouth. He thinks the internal screaming doesn’t show, but it’s a close thing.

Why did he say that? It’s amazing Bill suggested freeing any people - something he’s never, ever done - and the moment that singular miracle happened, Dipper botched the followup.

Stupid move. Even with leverage, he’s asking for way too much, way too fast. He’s arguing with a demon who never offers any favors, doesn’t care about morals, and he hasn’t even been nice to him. There’s no way that -

“Cripes, sapling. You don’t do half-measures, do ya?” Bill complains, sinking a few inches in the air. Even his limbs seem to droop under his bottom edge. “Do you know how long it took to collect this many? To get ‘em posed just right? I’ve curated the best horrified expressions, and it took like, over twenty years! That’s so much work!”

Dipper watches Bill sink midair, and says nothing. Hears the whine in his voice, like a kid complaining about not getting his favorite toy, and hums to himself. He taps his fingers on his bicep, mouth creasing into a line.

“All of them.” Dipper repeats, more firmly. Now that he’s seen a crack in the armor, he digs in the crowbar. “Every single person walks out of here alive and safe, or you’re out of luck.”

Far too much to ask for, infinitely too much to demand, and he’s doing it anyway. It’s only the third dumbest thing he’s done today, and something tells him there’s a chance.

“Those are my terms.” Dipper tries to stand firm, in a manly, confident way. It takes more adjusting than he’d like, but he thinks it looks decently cool. “Take it or leave it.”

“Ughhhh.” Bill groans, running his hands down his surface. His eye rolls so far back it comes around again, pupil narrowed to a single line. “You’re outta your mind, sapling.”

Which isn’t a no. Dipper perks up, leaning towards this asshole. With the right tactics - a nudge, a shove, or a slap in demon terms - his chance might hold.

“You already said you were bored with them, Bill.” He adds, tapping his foot on the ground. He swears Bill darts a glance at the field, very briefly. Yes, this is working - “And it’s tacky as hell.”

“Pfft, what do you know,” Bill turns away sulkily, arms crossed. “I’m not taking ‘tacky’ opinions from Mr. ‘Flannel’s my favorite’, here.”

Dipper grits his teeth against the impulse to respond. He can’t take the bait when he’s almost there. The right angle might give him just enough leverage -

Wait, didn’t Bill say his husband was insane? He probably wasn’t lying about that. Anyone who married a demon would need to know their crazy version of logic. That’s the key, isn’t it? Human reasons and basic morality would never work on Bill - but Dipper knows how these things think.

“Fine. Whatever you say, Bill.” With a casual shrug, he turns away. Not looking back at Bill’s sudden, strange look of apprehension takes effort, but he gazes over the statue field instead. “You can use the courtyard for shelving, I guess. I just think it’d be better for, y’know.” He waggles a hand, as if uncertain or disinterested. “A ceremony of some kind.”

A long, low complaining groan echoes through the clearing. Dipper hears a few curses, a few thuds that sound like a stomping foot, but doesn’t look over. Even though it’d be so, so good to see Bill frustrated, he can’t act like he cares.

“You’re the worst. The absolute worst,” Bill says, after his overly long groan stops. “You got way more annoying after dying! What’d they teach you in the afterlife?”

Dipper finally turns, raising an eyebrow. Bill flips him off. When Dipper still says nothing, he huffs and he puffs and fiddles with his tie, adjusting his hat - then apparently comes to a decision.

“Fine. Fine!” Bill says, throwing his arms in the air. “But you’re not dodging a bargain twice. So if I pull this favor - you gotta quit giving me such a cold shoulder. Deal?”

Dipper blinks rapidly. What, the perfectly warranted, reasonable distance he’s keeping? The one any sane person would maintain between themselves and the literal Nightmare King? What does ‘cold shoulder’ entail, and how comparatively ‘warm’ is he supposed to be, it’s way too vague.

He raises a hand, about to argue - Then hesitates.

Rationally speaking, it’s… not the worst bargain in the world. Maybe. If he doesn’t have to kill or mutilate, but just not insult the guy, then…

But this offer can’t be real.

While his instincts tell him Bill’s kind of sincere, that he’ll put in a little effort to get what he wants -There’s thousands of people. Reversing that many will take way too long, and far too much power. Once Bill’s tired and bored he’ll wander back over with excuses, maybe a dozen freed at best.

…And that’s a dozen that can be saved.

The garden is filled with people who’d been written off as lost causes. They’ve had funerals, been mourned and commemorized, tears have been shed over their ‘deaths’.

But Bill could bring some of them back. A dozen families would see their loved ones again. A dozen people could live their lives. An amazing rescue against absurd odds, because Dipper managed to convince the most insane being on the planet it was a half-decent idea.

Plus, if Bill actually goes along with getting them out of demon territory - that’s at least a week where he’ll be away. Time where, say, a very clever guy could evade demonic attention, grab his sister, and make a surreptitious exit.

Tons of opportunity. A rescue. All for a little bit of semantics-based risk.

When he looks over, Bill’s still staring, eerily silent as he waits for a reply. The way he focuses on Dipper so completely, unwavering, is really kinda creepy.

Dipper clears his throat, and picks his words carefully.

Lying here won’t work. Bill’s an expert, he’ll spot it in an instant, so. Honesty, then.

“There would… be a chance of me starting to think about not immediately rejecting you.”

Technically true: the best kind of true. Dipper can consider thinking about a lot of things. Like if Bill revived literally everyone, and if he wasn’t taking over the world, and if he wasn’t a platonic shape without a single ounce of softness in his nonexistent heart. Hypotheticals are fun.

“Good enough for me!” Bill beams. He darts forward, slapping Dipper’s still-upraised palm in a high five. “Hang back and watch the show!”

Bill drifts back, humming a little tune to himself, and snaps his fingers. There’s a flash of white light.

Then the screaming starts.

Dipper has to cover his ears over the chorus as thousands of voices cry out at once. Voices filled with terror, horrified screeching, a few high-pitched wails and sobs piercing through the cacophony. Beside him, Mabel grimaces, shutting her eyes and covering her own ears.

Over the next minute, the noise dims to a murmur. Dipper dares to check the field - hopefully everyone’s alive-

And sees a courtyard filled with color.

Everywhere he looks, there’s motion. Several fleeing people bump into each other in attempts to run from a foe that isn’t there anymore; Dipper can see one man helping another up. Another throws panicky punches in any direction before a tall woman grabs him by the back of the shirt. Some grab their nearest neighbor and start asking questions, while others mill around aimlessly.

Dipper can’t see why they stopped panicking, considering where they are. Shouldn’t they -

No, wait. It’s the same as Mabel. Bill freezes people in time when he turns them into statues, catching them mid-scream. Now that they’ve finally completed their terror, there’s surprisingly little threat around. They don’t know what happened.They’ve gone from ‘demonic invasion’ to ‘peaceful garden’ in a relative instant, which is far less terrifying.

But they sure as hell seem confused.

“There,” Bill says, with satisfaction. “Happy now?”

The question catches Dipper off guard. In all the hubbub, he’d almost forgotten who did this.

“I, uh,” He says, mouth dry. “I thought that would take you longer.”

“Why?”

Because everyone knows Bill Cipher only zaps a couple of people into stone at a time. Because transmuting flesh like that takes an incredible amount of power. Because the rational conclusion from those two facts was that it drained him too much to continue, leaving the rest of the town unscathed.

The evidence in front of Dipper tells a very, very different story.

When Bill doesn’t get a response, he shrugs. “Whatever, kid! Your cerebral cortex is running a bit slow, but I’m sure you’ll stop being dumb sooner or later!”

“Hey!” Dipper jerks back to attention, glaring at this asshole. Then, because he should say something, adds, “You’re dumb.” “Eh, save the sweet talk for later,” Bill says, a little grumpily. “Someone got pissy about ‘morals’ in the first twenty four hours of re-meeting, and now I got a courtyard to clean up.”

Lacing his fingers together, he pushes his arms out as if to crack his nonexistent knuckles. He adjusts his hat, sighs in a long, tired way, then drops with a thump to stand directly on the ground.

Huh. Dipper didn’t notice before, what with the floating at eye level - but for a demon, Bill’s remarkably small. His top point reaches mid-thigh at best, with the rest of his height being hat.

Bill grumbles something, snapping his fingers again. A broom pops out of nowhere and he snags it, stomping down the hillside with desultory tread. As he stalks down the slope, he leaves a trail of muttered complaints behind him.

Okay. This is weird, which means it’s basically normal for Bill. But what the hell is a broom going to accomplish? Has he run out of magic? What is he planning to do without any left? Is he just going to prod people with the handle?

Dipper glances towards Mabel, hoping she might have some idea of what’s going on.

Mabel just shrugs, sweater bunching up against her neck. Yeah. He didn’t think she had any answers. But it’s nice to know he’s not the only one.

Still, Bill slinking off is a sight Dipper doesn’t mind, confusing or not. He certainly can’t complain about the results.

Two thousand people and change, transformed into stone and back again. The crowd almost looks like they’re gathered for a concert, instead of former captives of a demon lord. The low murmur of a large crowd talking burbles through the air.

So much for Bill’s sculpture garden. It was probably an impressive collection.

“Everyone’s back, huh,” Mabel says, both surprised and a little alarmed. Patting herself over like she’s checking for shale deposits; she must have realized her own former stony status. “I didn’t know Bill could do that!”

“Yeah.” Dipper agrees. He wipes sweating palms on his jeans. “I didn’t either.”

What Mabel hasn’t realized is how absolutely, insanely impossible this should have been. How pulling this off would have required immense power, and remarkable precision with delicate magic. The energy required alone was…

Dipper runs a rough calculation, guesstimating some figures, and the numbers come up with an alarming amount of digits.

At what point does ‘magic’ change into straight-up ‘messing with the fabric of reality’? Because Bill’s dipping his nonexistent toes into that water and kicking up some friendly splashes.

But then. If he was working on that level, why did he not change entire cities into -

No, wait. Bill answered that already. It was a collection, he only wanted the best. Why would he mass produce figurines of human torment? It’d totally ruin their rarity.

So it’s not about lack of power. Not about having limits. Just the whim of a madman with fucked-up hobbies, trying to preserve resale value.

Bill refrains from mass destruction because he doesn’t care to, not because he couldn’t.

The implications have only started creeping in when a massive ‘thud’ sounds from the courtyard. A vibration strong enough that Dipper can feel it through his shoes, shaking the ground, then repeating in a slow beat.

Also, the screaming starts again.

Dipper whips around, expecting Bill to be, well. Probably smacking people with his broom like an idiot rather than doing anything productive, and he’s ready to yell at him for being an idiot. Halfway through calling out he stops, open-mouthed.

Bill’s messing with his captives, alright. Wielding the broom, to boot. He’s just also thirty feet tall.

Within less than a minute he’s grown tremendously in size - shapeshifting, right, Dipper forgot that was one of his things - and now he stomps around the courtyard, sweeping fleeing humans into strange, glasslike bubbles forming on the lawn. While still muttering under his breath, unintelligible but grumpy.

“Oh shit,” Mabel says, in an unusual understatement. She looks towards the closest demon-expert, poking him in the side. “Is that, uh. Normal?”

Dipper simply shrugs. No expert on Bill thought he was capable of this.

Everyone knows Bill Cipher is an incredibly powerful demon. Even if his powerset was mostly unknown, it explained his ironclad rule over horrible demonic forces.

Everyone also knew that while he was the cause of the invasion, he wasn’t the main threat. Compared to roving bands of demons, he was downright convenient.

Bill rarely leaves his Fearamid. Every month or so he pops out to mess with a few border cities, but that’s about it. He prefers to stew in his fortress like a huge, toothy beast mired in its bog. Sure, it’s deadly. You wouldn’t want to get anywhere near those massive jaws. But as long as you stay out of its range, it can’t snap a limb off.

Now. With the amount of magic Bill’s throwing around - like it’s easy. Like it’s nothing -

Dipper feels like he’s watching an ancient, terrifying monster emerge from hibernation. Getting to its feet, shaking off the muck, and, horrifyingly, starting to sprint.

He rubs at his eyes. Okay, time to reevaluate. Bill’s a bigger threat than was thought, not the first time they’ve had to rerun an assessment. Finding the boundaries of his powers and the limit to his energy is just a matter of time and careful study.

As he and Mabel watch, bubbles filled with floating humans rise into the air.. Iridescent and massive, they swirl in an intertwining ballet. The sight would almost be pretty, if it weren't for all the screaming. And the gigantic triangle crouching in the courtyard, trying to fish the last few mortals out of a nearby crevice.

Several bubbles, already filled with terrified humans swimming in midair, float up even higher. Some get as high as the peak of the fearamid, while others level off slightly below. They turn in place, as if setting their direction before zipping off into the distance and across the horizon faster than Dipper can track.

All the equations Dipper had running grind to a halt, gears falling out and springs bouncing until they collapse, smoking, in a pile.

Fuck it.

“I,” Dipper declares, raising a finger in the air. “Have no idea what’s going on.”

With that said, he drops down to the grass. It’s soft enough to make a reasonably comfy seat as he rests his chin in his hands. His sister plops down to join him, patting his shoulder.

No use trying to figure out how Bill’s doing this. Trying to calculate this comes up with really upsetting numbers, and all he’s getting from it is anxiety.

Might as well let this asshole finish his ‘chore’. Explanations can be demanded after.

“Aha! Gotcha!” Bill jerks up with a handful of humans, waving them about in a none-too-gentle shake. “Finally. This is taking forever.”

Dipper rolls his eyes. If anything that was way too fast. Already the courtyard’s empty, Bill stuffing his last squirming fistful into yet another sphere of light.

He wonders what those orbs are. They’re probably not the most comfortable way to travel, but at least they’re getting people out of demon territory - and Bill’s fulfilling his part of the bargain. Hopefully they’re being flung somewhere reasonably habitable, and everyone arrives in one piece. Since Bill didn’t dismantle them beforehand, it’s even likely.

So really, when you think about it. This is a win. Everything that happened today was a victory over the forces of evil.

A giant, hyper-powerful triangle released all his captives, returning them to civilization. And not because he wanted to, oh no. Not because of a complicated political treaty, or a greater evil plan. Definitely not because it was the right thing to do.

Because he got yelled at.

“How did that work?” Dipper has to ask, even when the question doesn’t have an answer. “That shouldn’t have worked.”

Bill Cipher doesn’t like humans. He barely tolerates the demons around him, he’s selfish and crass and evil. One little semi-bargian with an angry nerd is too small and pitiful to even laugh at. And yet here they are.

A tap on his shoulder. “Um. Maybe you should…” Mabel looks alarmed. She tilts her head to gesture behind him. “Dipper, look.”

When she was still trapped in stone, Dipper hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings. He was vaguely aware that there was a bigger, metal thing behind her, but it didn’t seem like a big deal.

It was, in fact, a big deal. Huge, in fact.

Behind where she was posed, there’s a massive golden statue of a man lying supine, arm artfully draped over the side of the plinth. Its polished chest gleams in the light, the rest covered in a sweep of sculpted cloth. And the face...

Shoulders slumping, Dipper feels his heart sink. Not more stupid dead husband stuff. Not here too. And why is it so -

Then he catches sight of the words engraved on its plinth, and grimaces.

It reads:

DIPPER CIPHER THE ONLY WORTHWHILE HUMAN

Dipper stares at his palm. It still tingles a little from the impromptu high-five.

Realizing, with an odd lightheadedness, that he might be in a little bit of tremendous trouble.

His sister smiles awkwardly, lifting her arms in a shrug. “I think he’s a little obsessed with you.”

#Widower AU #writing is hard #Ugh and of course I have to do another chapter after this #Which admittedly will have some fun scenes #But the work truly never stops; the blessing of creating is making stuff and the curse is also making stuff #Thankfully I have a whole outline for this thing!

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